


Let's Tango

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Competition, Dancing, M/M, Romance, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months short of the most important tango competition of the year Arthur's partner, his sister Morgana, gets injured. Arthur soon learns that she won't be able to compete. As if that were not enough, Arthur will have to decide on a new partner in a matter of days. Coincidentally, he meets Merlin, a street perfomer, who's a master of the Argentine tango. Pity that Arthur dances balllroom.</p><p>Written for the 2014 Merlin Reverse Bigbang and Fuckyeah's lovely art featuring tango dancers Merlin and Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Tango

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Fuckyeah's marvellous art here:
> 
> Let's Dance
> 
>  
> 
> My thanks go to the lovely blissbubbles for the beta!  
> Massive thanks go to fuckyeah as well for explaining the differences between the two varieties of tango to me and for the ever helpful links she provided.

Let's Tango

Arthur and Morgana flitted across the ballroom, their movements a perfect staccato. In snaps and twists they surrendered to the dance, holding each other as the music aggressively swelled. The notes of the tango stabbed Arthur within, carving a place for themselves deep in his soul. 

By positioning his body just so, Arthur placed his partner's feet counter to his, readying Morgana for each step, no flashy movements dictating his motions, only a need to create a seamless visual that would inspire what he would do next.

Morgana answered him perfectly, as though their hearts beat in unison. Arthur segued into a forward walk. From one closed foot, he landed onto another, balancing his position as deftly as he could. 

The music playing under his skin, Arthur executed an open reverse turn, Morgana following his cue, her body tuned to his. These were the little moments that made or unmade a dancing couple. You couldn't maintain body contact unless your legs were in sync with your partner's. Tango was all about that, teasing touches that hinted at passion, desire, that mimicked love making. If two dancers weren't in sync, their bodies straying, unable to stick together, then they were failing the spirit of the dance. Visually, that would also herald disaster. Or worst of all, they'd be bumping into one another. 

This never happened with Morgana. She knew him like the back of her hand, just like he knew her, her tempo, her patterns, her instincts. Morgana ended on his outside, her dress swirling around her body. In this moment, Arthur was aware, she looked the perfect tango dancer, her hair pulled back in a tall chignon, her costume held in place by a black silk corset. 

Even the swirling of the fabric had been calculated to heighten the visuals. The jury would be treated to a performance that encompassed perfect technique and appropriate looks.

The brazenness of the piece became more and more evident. It was in the sound that dictated their steps and pounded at their temples. It was in the poetry serving the score, the instrumentals. The piece they were practising might have been recorded but it wasn't any the less vibrant for it.

In accord with the music, Arthur started a faster combination. They had tried this before, so Arthur followed through as he always had, Morgana's hand in his.

But Morgana stumbled, her heel snapping loudly. She gave a sharp cry of pain. Arthur held her as she clung to him with all her might. “Morgana, what's wrong?”

Morgana's eyes were squeezed so tight her eyelashes meshed together. A wrinkle weaved its way across her forehead and she blanched. “My foot,” she said through gritted teeth. “It hurts.”

Morgana's fingers digging deep into his arm and shoulder, Arthur said, “Let's walk over to the bench.”

“I don't think I can,” Morgana said, avoiding to put her foot down so that her weight wouldn't rest on it. “I really don't.”

Arthur started to panic. Morgana wasn't the type of person to make a fuss over nothing. Under an exterior that was superficially glamorous, she hid steel. “Okay, right-- I'll”

Seeing as they hadn't only stopped dancing, but that they were standing stock still in the middle of the dance floor, Father ran over to them. “Why aren't you to finishing the number? Now's not the time to be lazy. The competition won't win itself.”

“Father,” Arthur said, “I think Morgana has hurt herself.”

Father's brow contorted and his lips tightened. “Well, then, take a break and then get back to it.”

“Uther,” Morgana said, using the one word that was sure to get Father's knickers in a twist, “I think I really hurt myself this time. I don't think a five minute break is going to cut it.”

“Nonsense,” Father said, staring at Morgana's foot. “I think I've impressed upon the both of you the need to persevere even through a little pain, especially when the goal is so close.”

Letting slowly go of Arthur, Morgana put her foot down, trying to balance herself. The moment she did, she went such a shade of white Arthur had never seen on any living person. 

“Okay,” Arthur said, lifting Morgana in his arms. “I'm taking her to hospital. The doctor will decide if she can power through or not.”

At first Father looked like he wanted to object but then, seeing as Morgana wasn't recuperating as fast as he was used to, he nodded tersely. 

After Father had got the car round the building, Arthur walked Morgana to it. She had to lean on him to get there, but slowly they made it. The fact that she used him as a walking stick at all advertised that she wasn't even minimally all right.

“So,” Father asked, hands tight around the steering wheel, “which hospital do we go to?”

“I think the Finchley Memorial has a walk in centre that should be open right about now.”

Father frowned. “They have a private facility right here in Hendon. Morgana needs to be put back on her feet immediately.”

“But that place has no A&E,” Arthur objected. “They only do clinic visits.”

“Still, I'm sure they can provide better care for a champion of Morgana's stature,” Father said, arching an eyebrow. “She's most certainly not your run of the mill patient.”

“But--” Arthur said, starting again, hoping Father would come round and see how they needed to do things the simple way, establish what was wrong with Morgana first. They could see a specialist afterwards, when the emergency was past.

“Will you two stop having a father-son one-upmanship contest and just drive to the closest hospital for Christ's sake!” Morgana snapped.

Father turned the key in the ignition.

The drive to Finchley Memorial was a slow one what because of traffic and because of Father's extremely prudential driving. "Couldn't you go faster? Arthur asked. "She clearly is in pain."

"She isn't dying, Arthur," Father said in a stoic voice. "I am not speeding and getting us all killed just because you think rushing is essential."

"Father," Arthur said, looking at Morgana's pale face in the rear view. "I am not requiring Formula 1 speeds here, just a bit more punch to your driving."

"Arthur," Morgana said through gritted teeth. "Let's not quarrel, shall we."

Arthur did as Morgana required. After all she wouldn't benefit from being made a nervous wreck even before she got to the A&E. 

The wait at the hospital was long and unnerving. After she had been made to sit on a wheelchair for an extremely long while, Morgana was whisked off to parts unknown. After that, neither Arthur nor his father was told what was going on. No doctor, nurse or staffer came up to them with news about Morgana. They merely hastened by without noticing Arthur and Uther's attempts at hailing them, going by in a flurry of theatre greens and white scrubs.

The clocked ticked on, plenty of patients emerged from the door Morgana had disappeared behind, but they still got no update on Morgana. Both Arthur and his father started tapping their feet on the floor, sliding to the edge of their seats whenever a staffer passed by.

Two trips to the vending machines later, Morgana was led back to them, a nurse pushing the wheelchair she had been made to use. Seeing her was a big relief. Arthur smiled for no other reason than her being there, foot all bandaged up. Besides, she looked less green around the gills and that had to be good news.

"Morgana," Arthur said, putting his Styrofoam down and walking over to her. He knelt by her chair and took her cold hand in his. "How are you, what did they tell you?"

"Nothing much for now," Morgana said, squeezing his fingers. Now that it came unprompted, her smile was much more genuine than the weakly reassuring ones she'd shot at him before. "They took me upstairs for x-rays and an MRI, but I'm still waiting for the results."

As if her words had summoned him, a doctor in whites appeared. "Ms. Pendragon," he said, "if you would like to follow me--"

"Can we come too?" Arthur asked, right before Father stepped onto everybody's toes by saying, "Of course we're going in too, Arthur. We're her family."

The doctor studied Morgana's features for traces of discomfort. "If Ms Pendragon has no objections, I am not against it, but she should choose."

“I'm her father,” Uther said, throwing her shoulders back.

“Let them come,” Morgana said. 

“If you're sure,” the doctor answered, studying her closely. After Morgana had nodded, he wheeled her down a brightly lit, grey-washed corridor. With his foot, the doctor opened a door and ushered them all in. 

The room they had been led into was tiny. There was a gurney in the left corner while in the right, next to a skeleton replica, a luminescent board hung. The doctor slapped x-ray and MRI results onto it. Thanks to the bright back-lighting, Arthur could see the scan images very clearly. That though didn't mean that he could read them.

"These," the doctor said as he slipped behind a large rectangular desk, "are x-rays of your left foot, Ms Pendragon. And that is magnetic imaging of the same."

"We suspected as much, doctor," Father said with something closely resembling a sneer. "Now can you tell me what my daughter has and when she can get back to dancing?"

“Unfortunately,” the doctor said, “I don't think that will be possible in the near future.”

“What do you mean?” Morgana said, looking thoroughly panicked now.

“I was going to illustrate my point by describing your injury, which I will by and by,” the doctor said. “But if you want the short version, I'll have to put it like this: you should undergo surgery.”

“Why, I thought nothing was broken,” Morgana said, leaning closer to the doctor's desk. “Nothing feels broken.”

Arthur's heart climbed to his throat. 

“There are no fractures indeed,” the doctor was quick to confirm. “But as you can see from the scan.” The man rose and walked to the luminous board and pointed at the scan with his pen. “Your lateral ankle ligaments snapped. They were completely ruptured.” He tapped the MRI scan with his pen. “There was also extensive damage to the collagen fibre surrounding them.”

“Can't this be treated non-surgically?” Morgana asked.

The doctor nodded at the question. “Normally, I would try non-surgical means first. Physiotherapy would be my choice. The right kind of exercise would strengthen the muscles around the outside of your ankle thus improving your balance.”

“But?” Morgana asked. “I sense there is a but coming.”

“But we detected clear traces of joint instability and joint effusion,” the doctor said, circling his pen around a fuzzier area of the scan image. “Considering that you told me you're also an athlete...”

“My daughter is a three-time winner of the World Ballroom Professional Championship and one time winner of the Junior Blackpool Festival. So you can call her an athlete indeed.”

“Yes, indeed,” the doctor said. “That is why I was suggesting surgery instead of temporising.”

“I'll go for it,” Morgana said, clenching her jaw. “How long will it take me to be on my feet again?”

“Well, surgery will restore stability,” the doctor answered carefully, “but that's not all there is to it. Following surgery you will be in a plaster for six weeks. After this you will need to wear an ankle brace for another 6 weeks. I will recommend you for physiotherapy treatment. Once your ankle has stabilised, you will be able to work with your physiotherapist to regain the strength and mobility that you lost.”

“But that's a two to three months period!” Morgana said, her brow creasing. 

“Unfortunately, so it is,” the doctor said, dropping both his pen and his shoulders.

“This is preposterous,” Father said, standing up. “You will have to fix her much more quickly than that.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible,” the doctor said. “There's such a thing as a prognosis. Even in the best of circumstances I can't guarantee she'll be fit to compete in two months.”

“But this year's World Championship takes place this April and we're in February,” Father said, both his eyebrows straining fiercely upwards. “Your prognosis isn't compatible with that.”

“I am afraid that Ms. Pendragon will have to stand down,” the doctor said. “I wouldn't advice competitive dancing so soon after recovery. Maybe in the summer.”

Father slammed his fist down on the doctor's desk. “But Morgana is Arthur's dance partner! Without her they'll both have to sit out the competition.”

The doctor pursed his lips and his facial muscles contracted in little spasms. Arthur could tell he was restraining himself from actually punching Father in the face. “If your daughter's health is dear to you, you'll listen to me. There's nothing else that can be done.”

Father snorted. “These NHS doctors. I'm sure a private one will sort you out in no time, Morgana.”

Morgana's mouth slowly opened. Arthur couldn't call himself so surprised though. That was a reaction typical of his father.

“If any doctor promises you that,” Morgana's current orthopaedist said, “then they're lying. Either for the money or to tell you what you want to hear. Ligament injuries can be tricky. I suppose you don't want your daughter to go through any relapses?”

Arthur intervened before Father could alienate Morgana's doctor entirely. “We want her to be fine,” he said, smiling wanly. “Even if that means giving up on taking part in the championship.” A little part of Arthur still clung to his dreams, still wanted to tread on that dance floor and win, but he would never endanger Morgana because of that. “Morgana comes first.”

Father got puce, especially around the ears, but Morgana's doctor nodded. “I'm glad you're taking the prudential route. It's the one I advice. But of course.” He cocked his head at Morgana “—it's up to the patient to decide.”

Morgana's fingers curled inwards; a lock of hair that had come loose from her bun fell over her eyes. “I really don't want to disappoint you,” she told Arthur, Father not making it into her field of vision. “But I want to go for the surgery. So I can be well again in the summer.”

Arthur knelt by Morgana's side and took her hand. “Of course, we can win next year.”

“I'm so sorry, Arthur,” Morgana told him, squeezing his fingers. “I know how much you wanted to win.”

Father turned his head away.

The doctor barged in on Arthur and Morgana's moment. “Well, now that you've decided, let's talk about injury management and your prescriptions. It'll see you through the first few days.”

“Of course,” Morgana said, wheeling her chair sideways so she was facing her doctor.

 

**** 

 

Arthur emptied his locker, shoes first. He stuck his costume into his rucksack. The other odds and ends ended up half in his pocket, half in the bin.

“Arthur, what the hell are you doing?” Father asked him, literally pouncing on him.

“Why, I gave up my lease on the ballroom for this year,” Arthur said, making sure the locker was now empty. “Keeping it seemed pointless given that we won't be competing till the summer at the earliest.”

Father intercepted his hand. “You can't do this. You can't give up.”

Arthur's lashes came down just as his chest emptied of breath. “I see no other solution. We can't press Morgana. We can't will her to heal quicker. And even though she'll be better by the time the competition starts, this gives us no time to finish practising our routine.”

“Morgana is out of the run, I agree,” Father said, with a glint in his eyes. “We'll focus on training her after the summer.”

“So you do see it the same way I do,” Arthur said, bending over to zip his rucksack closed.

“No,” Father said, “I don't. What I'm saying is something completely different and that is you can still participate.”

Arthur straightened, meeting his father's eyes dead on. “Unfortunately, I'm only one half of a whole.”

“We can find you another partner.”

Arthur picked up his rucksack and made for the exit. “Impossible. Morgana and I have been dancing together for years, ever since we started thinking that we could even dream of dancing competitively.”

“I was there, I believe?” Father said, his hand around Arthur's biceps. “I made sure you trained. I made sure you had the best teachers. I became your manager because I believed in you as a duo.”

After he and Morgana had won their first competition, attention came their way. Judges and the public started believing in their potential, even as juniors. On their heels Father had begun taking their interest in dancing seriously. Even if originally he had been sceptic. Arthur didn't dig that up now. “Then you know we clicked because we're brother and sister. We're attuned that way. Where would I find someone who matches me move for move at such short notice? Where do I find anyone else like that?”

“We can hold open auditions,” Father said, his eyes glowing with hope. “Arthur, think.”

“All championship competitors meaning to participate are already going to have a partner,” Arthur said, latching onto an issue he believed to be very real. “There isn't going to be someone with the skills to dance with me not already signed up to compete.”

“We must have faith,” Uther said.

Something in his tone made a spark of hope light up inside Arthur. With Morgana out of the equation, he had had to set all thoughts of winning aside. “I did have faith before Morgana.” Arthur tried to articulate some of that vocally. “Now I don't know.”

“Arthur, you're not getting any younger, and these are the last few competitions you can take part in,” Father said, sounding reproachful. “You should try everything.”

Arthur didn't need to be told that. He was perfectly aware. And it wasn't as though he didn't enjoy the feeling that came with competing. It was a focus for his craft, his abilities. The rivalry kept him on his toes. And the rush that came with victory was unbeatable. There was no way he wasn't longing for that. But he was being rational here. “I know that, Father, but I'm not retiring yet and I suppose there are other venues we could turn our attention towards now that I'm partner-less.”

“The question isn't so much that as whether you want to win this one competition.”

“I do,” Arthur said, letting himself feel the thrill of hoping. “With all my heart.”

“Then I suggest, Arthur,” Father said both sternly and matter of factly, “that you find a way to make it possible.”

Arthur knew Father wasn't wrong, but he wasn't ready to let himself believe that his dreams could come true after they'd taken a thorough beating. “Auditions, you said?”

“I'll publish an ad in all specialised magazines,” Father said, already thumbing at his mobile to couch a draft. “And I will spread the word among my colleagues.”

“Maybe someone will turn up,” Arthur made himself say, even though he doubted he would chance on the right person for him, one that matched him and had the same range of skills as him. “I suppose I shouldn't despair then.”

“No,” Uther said, fingers busy composing the words that would go into that ad. “Pendragons never fail, Arthur.”

 

**** 

They hired a studio for audition purposes. Because Arthur and Morgana had won a respectable number of competitions, quite a few aspiring new partners turned up. Arthur counted fifteen. At such short notice and with such strict requirements, he didn't think that bad.

“Better than I'd hoped, in fact,” Arthur said, feeling that maybe, just maybe, they could pull a win off even in the circumstances.

“What did I tell you, Arthur?” Father said, clamping a hand on his shoulder and leading him to a seat placed behind a large oblong desk. “You can't win, if you don't persevere.”

Arthur picked up the first CV from the pile that had gathered up in the week and a half leading up to auditions. “Shall we ask them in?” Arthur asked. 

Uther forked his reading glasses, gave the CV a brief perusal, and then nodded. “Yes.”

Vivian, their first candidate, had great rhythm, stunning looks that were complementary to Arthur's and, and an inborn sense of showmanship. Arthur almost thought he'd found his new partner on the first try when he tried dancing with her. Though Vivian was clearly accomplished, they didn't mesh at all. He bumped into her; she wouldn't relax in his arms, her barycentre completely thrown off axis.

Sophia looked as lovely as Vivian did, but when it came to dancing she was too forceful and angry. She had no smoothness. Even for a dance as passionate as tango, she was too much. Arthur didn't even try to have a dance with her. Watching her sway to La Cumparsita was more than enough.

“Next,” Father called, after having shared a look with Arthur.

Unlike the first two, Mary just didn't have the necessary skills to cut it. She didn't even have a sense of the music. She might as well have been waltzing. Father was rather quick to call 'next'. Arthur was a bit sorry to see Mary's face fall, but it wasn't as if he could take her on just to please her.

The next candidates were even worse. Most had some technique but they had been out of the competitive loop for too long to make them fit to participate now. They thought Arthur's ad was a way to get back into the saddle of official contests. But the very fact they had been sitting so many out had been detrimental to them and it showed in their execution.

Arthur dismissed another five in a row.

At the end of a very long afternoon Arthur shouted his last, “Next.”

The girl who came in was called Forridel. She danced to Reliquias Portenas with grace and decision, her style already naturally close to Arthur's. She was actually a delight to follow across the room. Aside from her sequencing from one step to another perfectly, she had an innate sense of what tango was. 

Arthur was tapping his feet, wanting to join her. When she was done, chest heaving for the effort, Arthur stood up and offered her his hand. Music started again. This time it was El Dia Que Me Quieras that they moved to. Head level, Arthur straightened and lifted his chest. Forridel countered his every move. They didn't bump into each other. Shifting on the outer and inner edges of their feet, they slid across the length of the room with smoothness. It was okay. Arthur was feeling the music and had a sense of what his partner was going to do next. It wasn't bad for two people who'd never danced together before. But it wasn't as effortless as it had been with Morgana. Despite the absence of mistakes, something didn't click within him. He didn't disappear into the performance.

The music crescendoed. Arthur and Forridel swirled across the length of the studio one last time and then the melody died. Chest rising quickly, Arthur nodded at Forridel.

She was smiling up with him. “So how did it go?”

“I'll, um,” Arthur said, his hand still in his partner's, “let you know in a day or two.”

Forridel's lips quirked tentatively. “All, right, yeah. I do hope we get to dance together.”

Gathering her things back from the corner she'd left them, Forridel exited the room.

After a few seconds had elapsed, with Forridel sure not to be able to overhear them, Father said, “She's most definitely the best.” He eyed the door as though he wanted to call her back. “Smooth and powerful. Good grasp of the dance and you move in unison with her.”

Arthur scratched his scalp. “I don't know. There's something.” Putting it into words wasn't easy. It was a feeling more than something that could be defined. “Something's not clicking.”

“Arthur, you can't expect the same level of smoothness as you had with Morgana on your first try,” Father said, sounding so logical Arthur was at pains to contradict him. “You'll have to train hard just so you can reach that kind of confidence again.”

“I'm not convinced,” Arthur said, turning his head towards the door. The corridor beyond it, he knew, was empty. “Something's missing.”

“Arthur, beggars cannot be choosers.”

Arthur could see that too. Father was making sense. All other dancers were either already competing or too rusty. “Give me two days to think about it. I'll train in the meanwhile, I just... need time before deciding on Forridel.”

Father's face got all scrunched up: forehead, nose, chin. His mouth puckered sideways. “I'll give you that. But after the two days' mark you're either choosing Forridel or a third party. Is that clear?”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, I promise I will come up with a name in two days.”

 

**** 

Mithian downed the rest of her beer. “Well, you are indeed in a pickle.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, toying with the condensation on his beer. “I only have 24 hours left.”

“The decision will come to you,” Mithian said, patting his hand. “You'll see.”

Arthur stuck his lower lip out. “I just don't see how this is going to pan out well.”

Mithian smiled an encouraging smile. “You know, I firmly believe in fate.”

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table, feeling the coarseness of the wood. “If I did, I should also believe it hates me. What with what happened to Morgana and how Father's breathing on my neck for a decision, I wouldn't think destiny is a friendly entity at all.”

“I meant it more in an 'I'm sure things will sort themselves out' way than a 'fate was kind to you' one,” she said, reaching for the bill. “I'll get this.”

“Mithian, don't you even dare!”

But Mithian had already taken a few banknotes out of her wallet and laid them on the tray the waiter had provided. “Oh, no, I invited you out because Morgana was driving me crazy and I needed to vent against my friend without sounding like an honest to god cow, so it's definitely on me.”

“Look, Morgana can be a handful, especially when bed-ridden,” Arthur said, trying to give Mithian her money back. “But she's my sister, got injured while dancing with me and therefore my responsibility, so I should foot this.” He fought for the bill.

“And I'm her best friend,” Mithian said, “who shouldn't be complaining about Morgana being rather too imperious now that she's worried about her health. So you'll see how I'm cosmically guilty too. I should have put up with her and home-delivered those pistachio éclairs for her at 2 am– which by the way are hard to find – without dragging you into it.”

“Mithian--” Arthur said, making a last ineffective grab for the bill.

“Arthur,” Mithian said, a severe staccato delivery. “Really, I mean it.”

Arthur knew when to let go. The danger here was getting his head bitten off for clinging to dated concepts of chivalry. He argued some more; Mithian argued back. In the end, he conceded and Mithian settled their bill. When this was done, they stopped outside the café. Hat pushed low on her forehead, Mithian pointed her thumb backwards, southwards towards Maiden Lane. “I'd walk you, but I've got to dash to my cousin's.” She rolled her eyes. “I've promised to look after her twins while she's on a night out with her boyfriend.”

“I don't envy you in the least,” said Arthur, zipping up his jacket. “But that means I'll have a rather lonely tube trip.”

“I swear I'll escort you next time,” Mithian said, looping her scarf around her neck. She kissed him on both cheeks. “Bye, Arthur.”

Hands in his pockets, Arthur walked towards Long Acre. He was deep in his own mental lucubration, when he heard the music. Its repetitive and strong pulse stretched into a rhythm that Arthur recognised as Tango. 

His attention snagged, Arthur looked up and noticed the crowd gathered in a semicircle around what looked like two moving people. Arthur elbowed his way past some of the bystanders so he could be in the first row of onlookers. His gaze lit on two men, dancing to the notes of the tango whose melody had wafted up to Arthur. 

The two stood chest-to-chest. A lanky young man with a shock of dark hair was leading his partner, a stockier individual with a distinctly ruddy complexion, throughout the dance. The latter matched him on alternate feet that lit on the ground in a counter tempo to that of the first bloke. Their soles grazed the grubby pavement as they tango-walked, their ankles and knees brushing one another to the sound of music. 

What attracted Arthur's gaze wasn't so much their patterns – most of those were broken off by frankly ridiculous improvisations – but the strength and passion that the lead dancer exuded, the sheer raw sexuality of him. It drilled holes in Arthur's chest that left him gasping for air. It was evidenced by the way the dancers acted in relation to one other, hips close, chests brushing, foreheads a hair's breadth away. It was there in the matching rise of their bodies to the music, their leaning close, a story of love in their embrace. It was palpable in the way they gravitated one towards the other, always seamless, the rippling of their counterpoint drawn from their bones.

The way those two moved, was eye-catching and mesmerising. The lanky one in particular; he was born for this. For the tango, to dance it, be it, live it. Arthur was sure of that. And though he found he wanted to correct a lot of what he was seeing, all that cross walking and weight shifting made the ballroom dancing purist in Arthur want to tear his hair off in clumps, he couldn't deny that what he was looking at had its own kind of artistry.

The dancers were probably short of technicality, though not showmanship, their figure eights as eye-catching as fireworks in the night sky. They could capture an audience.

The people standing and watching were in fact making awed sounds, gasping. The hat that lay upturned on the pavement was full of fivers and, notably, a few tenners as well. When the music stopped, a sonorous wave of clapping broke the air, together with requests for an encore.

The two dancers, sweaty and red faced, chests heaving, shook their heads. But they both bowed, and one of them, the scrawny one that Arthur had thought the most gifted, said in an alto voice made wheezy by strain, “But we'll be happy to dance for you again Friday, same time, same place.”

Some members of the crowd nodded while some others complained. “Not going to pass by again, am I,” one said.

Overall the testimonials of those pleased by the exhibition far outnumbered those of the discontented.

As the gawky dancer zipped up, Arthur approached him. “Hey, you,” he said, not knowing how to address this guy. “Can I have a word?”

The young man, who was zipping up a gym bag, looked up, one knee on the asphalt. “Yeah, of course you can.”

“What I wanted to say is...” Arthur started, not knowing how to express the idea that had just come to him. “That though your walk is appalling and your steps are weird, you do have a good sense of showmanship.”

“Hey, are you calling me a bad dancer and a show-off?” the man said, a pinch to his forehead. 

Seeing the man was unhappy with what Arthur had said, his dance partner intervened to defend his honour. “Need help with the rude gent, Merlin?”

Merlin scrunched up his nose and said, “Nah. I can confront him on my own, thanks, Will.”

“Look, you don't need to--” Arthur made air quotes “--confront anyone. I was merely commenting on your style, which, I think, I'm allowed to do.”

“You said my walk was bad,” Merlin pointed out as though that was the crux of the matter.

“It's not exactly bad bad,” Arthur revised what he'd said. “It's just against all the rules in the book.”

“What book?” Merlin scoffed, sharing a mocking look with his dance partner. 

“Ballroom regulations.”

Merlin made another deprecatory noise and started shoving his earnings in his pockets. “Yeah, I suspected as much.”

Arthur was positive the underlying meaning of Merlin's words was derogatory and though that irked him more than a little, he tamped down on his sense of annoyance and said, “Look, forget the rule book thing for a moment.”

“And your deprecation of my dancing,” Merlin said, straightening and slinging his rucksack over his shoulder.

“That wasn't really dep--” Arthur spluttered, then before he got side tracked again he changed tack. “Look, I'm not really here to discuss regulations, it's just that I'm a tango dancer--”

Merlin cut him off. “Glad to know you're just not an armchair critic with a passion for Strictly.”

Arthur despised Strictly with all his might. “Absolutely not, I'll have you know I won the World Ballroom Champion title for two consecutive years and then again three years ago. Besides that I won the Junior Blackpool festival at sixteen.”

Merlin whistled, though Arthur wasn't convinced that was praise, and tapped his fingers on his crossed forearms. “Is that so?”

Arthur took an involuntary step forward, chest out as if about to strut on the dance floor, and said, “Yes, that is so. I could tango before I could properly walk.”

Merlin turned his head away, lips twitching. “I'm sure that is true and not an exaggeration at all.”

Arthur tried to ignore Merlin's trying to get a rise out of him. Objectives, now was not the time to let himself get sidetracked. “And I'm meant to be competing again--”

“How good for you,” said Merlin, with the same laughter in his tone as before. 

If Arthur was a lesser man, he'd have told Merlin to fuck off – him and his attitude – but he was a little bit desperate. “But my sister got hurt--”

Merlin's face screwed up in a sea of tiny likes and crinkles. “You dance with your sister? You dance the Tango with your sister? Isn't that screwy?”

“I'll have you know that Astaire danced with his sister back in the day,” Arthur said, which was what he said every time someone brought up the subject Merlin just had.

“Good for him,” Merlin said with an insouciant grin. “It's still a bit oddish, don't you think?”

“Why, it's just dancing!” Arthur said, colouring.

“Tango is more than that,” Merlin said, his eyebrow shooting upward.

Arthur flashed Merlin's companion a speculative glance. “Why, you sleep with him?”

“Oi, private,” Will said.

Merlin's cheeks subtly reddened. “Once, in the past. It was all because of the dance. And being a bit broke and together, but, yeah...”

Somehow, even if he had no reason to, Arthur blushed just as Merlin had. “That's certainly not me and my sister.”

“I'm relieved...”

Will had impatiently shouldered his rucksack by now. “Are we going, Merlin?” 

“Yeah, a second, I'm trying to understand what this bloke here...”

“Arthur,” Arthur found himself saying.

“What Arthur here wants,” Merlin said, finishing his sentence.

“Do we even care?” Will asked, his eyebrows waggling in a way that meant he most certainly didn't.

“Actually, yes,” Arthur dove in again. “Because what I was about to say—”

“Very deviously.” A smile flirted with Merlin's lips. 

“Not terribly linearly, agreed,” Arthur says, conceding, “is that I need another dance partner, and you're good, so I thought I'd make the offer.”

“Wait,” Merlin said, the wrinkles on his nose expressive of his doubts, “are we talking tango or are we talking--” There was some indecipherable gesturing going on with Merlin. “--you know, sex.”

Arthur spluttered. “You're the one who's got the two horribly mixed up, not me.” Really, Merlin might have a nice body, a fact that had been evidenced by his dancing, but Arthur wasn't such a rabid horn dog that he'd have made a pass at a total stranger, mid street, just because of that. “I wanted to offer you the opportunity to dance with me and maybe win a prize.”

“I'm sorry,” Merlin said, eyeing Arthur suspiciously up and down, “but Will and me here make quite a bit with our street performances.”

Arthur snorted, probably at the worst possible moment.

“Yes, tell him, Merlin,” Will said, puffing his chest out.

“So I'll have to...” He trailed off, then once he'd seemingly latched onto the right word, he added, “Decline.”

“The World Champion gets four thousand pounds prize money,” Arthur said, since Merlin seemed to be preoccupied with the loss of his revenue as a street performer.

Merlin's eyes glinted for a second, so that Arthur was convinced he had him. Until, that was, Will stepped in and said, “Merlin isn't interested in your fancy competition. We just have fun here and that's all we want.”

Merlin's expression changed, his eyes glowed with a different light. “That's right. We dance because we want to... with no aim in sight.”

Arthur tried a last ditch attempt. “But you were keen on not losing your street performance money. That means money matters to you. You'd earn way more if you danced competitively.”

“Tango is a way of life for me,” Merlin said, his shoulders going up. “I'm sorry I can't accept.”

“But--” Arthur tried.

Merlin was already backing up the street. “Sorry, can't.”

 

***** 

 

When Arthur opened the door and saw Mithian, he experienced a pang of guilt. Snowflakes were trapped in the fabric of her woollen hat, her nose was red, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “What's the emergency?” she asked.

Arthur pulled her into his flat, gave her two pillows and a blanket, made her cocoa, and then, when she was comfortably seated, he said, “I found the perfect person to be my dance partner.”

Mithian sat up, the chocolate sloshing in her mug, the spill over risk rising to a square ninety percent. “That's great, Arthur!” She frowned. “Wait, I thought you called me because there had been some sort of emergency, some life crisis my presence was needed to avert.”

“Well, there is,” Arthur sat on the arm of the armchair opposite the sofa he'd let Mithian have sole possession of. “Problem one; the partner in question doesn't want to dance with me.”

Mithian's face fell. “Oh, then you're back to square one.”

“Not really.” Arthur fussed with the hangnail that had been bothering him for a few days. “Because I think I can persuade him.”

“Him?” Mithian asked, her eyebrows creeping upwards. “Would you be allowed to dance with a male partner?”

“There is nothing in the rule book that says my partner can't be a man,” Arthur said. “And there is a tradition of male-male dancing.”

“Would your father like it?” Mithian evidently knew enough of Uther Pendragon to suspect he wouldn't.

“Not really,” Arthur answered, weighing the question as fairly as he could. “But ultimately he is all about winning. More so now that one of his children can't participate.”

“Well, then this can be sorted,” Mithian said, after a careful sip of her chocolate. 

“Not really.” Arthur looked quickly up, then down again. “Father gave me two days to decide who my partner would be. Time's running out on me. And there is a perfectly reasonable option in the shape of a dancer called Forridel.”

“So why not just dance with her?” Mithian asked, putting her finger on an issue that Arthur had considered as well. 

“I don't know.” Arthur scratched at his temples, shrugged, then raked a hand through his hair. “There is something about Merlin, about the way he moves, that I think works for tango. That's why I want him.”

“And this other girl doesn't have the same je ne sais quoi?”

“There is nothing wrong with Forridel's dancing,” Arthur said, voicing something that he had felt instinctively. “She's a very accomplished dancer and our rhythm isn't off.”

“I sense a but coming,” Mithian guessed.

“But I don't think we'd spark as I would with Merlin.”

The corners of Mithian's lips tilted upwards. “Are you sure it's dancing you want to do with this Merlin person and not... other things?”

Arthur scrubbed a hand down his face. “Look, Mithian, Merlin is cute enough, but that's not what I'm after. I'm passionate enough about my career not to want to put it at risk it just because I want to get laid.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Mithian said, putting her mug down. “But how can I help you with all of this?”

“You must help me find a way to convince Father to give me an extra 48 hours before I have to make my decision.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Mithian asked, her shoulders both slumping and narrowing in postural self-defence.

“Father will be more malleable if you're present when I ask him,” Arthur said. “You know, he thinks he owes ladies a special, old fashioned kind of regard. If I was alone with him, he'd bite my head off. He'll be more prone to listen if you're there.”

Mithian tapped her chin. “In a convoluted way I get that. But can't you just go ahead and do what you want without getting your father's permission?”

“I could,” Arthur admitted, “but let's be honest here, my father is an excellent trainer and choreographer. Not to mention the fact he knows how to handle presentation and publicity.”

“So you want to keep him on your good side?”

“Basically, that's it.” Arthur dreamed ahead of what it could be like. “Me, Merlin, plus Father's choreographies? We'd have a solid chance to make the podium. Which is more than I've believed possible since Morgana had her accident.”

Mithian leaned forward to pat his knee. “I'll help, but I can't guarantee success.”

“I know that, Mithian.” He pressed the hand on his leg. “Thank you for trying.”

 

****

 

The restaurant was high-end; the kind father liked. It had mirrors mounted on the walls in lieu of wainscoting, sconces to hold the bright light fixtures, round tables cloaked in fine white table clothes. 

Clad in a severe dark jacket and bow tie, Father was already sitting at their table when Arthur and Mithian joined him. 

“Father,” Arthur said, startling him from his menu perusal.

His chair rattling back, Father stood. He kissed Mithian's hand, pulling out a chair for her, then he shook Arthur's. 

Arthur said, “I hope you had a good evening."

"Fine, so far," Father said, sitting back down once Mithian was comfortably seated. 

Arthur took a seat too. "Do you like the restaurant?"

Father smiled tightly, that he smiled at all was evidently on Mithian's behalf. "I find it acceptable, the menu choice is somewhat limited to four mains, but overall I think it can do."

That was faint praise, but coming from Father, it was more than enough. Arthur's strategic move, involving getting Mithian to mollify him seemed to be working. The need to stay chivalrous always tempered Father's actions.

"Uther, it has been a long time since we saw each other,” Mithian said conversationally.

Father nodded, passing Mithian the menu. "Yes," Father said, "since Morgana's last bash."

"Yes," Mithian agreed, passing Arthur the menu, unopened. "I distinctly remember seeing you there."

The waiter arrived. Since he was more of an expert, Father chose the wines. Mithian had Arthur choose for her. She wasn't interested in eating out but in persuading Arthur's father to relent on his ultimatum. 

Over the entrées they didn't discuss anything pertaining to the competition. The talk was general, spanning chefs, cuisine, and the last batch of music Uther had appreciated. But over the mains, Arthur did broach the topic. “Father, I think I have some good news to share.”

Father stopped trying to cut into a side of fillet Mignon. “What kind?”

“Professional,” Arthur said, making sure to act as though he was completely unconcerned, as if he wasn't about to spit out something upon which his competitive future hinged. “I found a new partner.”

“In Forridel, you mean,” Father said, picking up his fork again. 

“No, actually,” Arthur said, choosing his words carefully, “I've found someone else.”

“Someone else?” Father's eyebrow twitched rhythmically. “When did you audition new recruits? I wasn't aware of new answers to our ad.”

“I didn't, strictly speaking.” Arthur wove his way through this minefield of an answer. “But we're talking about a great dancer.”

“Who?” Father dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “Anyone I know from prior competitions?”

“No,” Arthur admitted. The difficult part was about to come. “You don't know him.”

Father cleared his throat. “Him. You can't dance with a man!”

Arthur slipped the rule book of the dance competition out of an inner pocket of his jacket. “Yes, I can, there's no rule stating the contrary.”

Father's fingers curled inwards, both his fists on the table. “You'd be the only one in a same sex couple. Just because you're gay, Arthur, doesn't mean that your dancing should reflect that.”

Arthur's jaw worked. He had so many throwbacks for that, but he didn't spit any of them out. Dancing and winning had to be his only priorities. He could engage Father on his jibes at a later date. “I hope you know that my sexuality has nothing to do with my ethics as a dancer. I don't want Merlin as a partner because I want to sleep with him. I hope you know I don't have to resort to that to get a man to go out with me. I'm committed to the dance and I want to win. That's why I want him on my team.”

Father inclined his head. “He is that good?”

“He's better.” Arthur let no doubt sound in his voice. That wasn't the way to Father's heart. “He's exceptional.”

“I want to see you dance with him before agreeing,” Father said. “Tonight.”

Sweat beaded Arthur's forehead. “I can't get a hold of him tonight.”

“What do you mean you can't get a hold of him tonight,” Father said, the vein in his forehead fattening. “This is important. I can't okay him without having seen him and I already have my doubts about this person.”

“Problem is,” Arthur began again, “is that I need two more days.”

“Two more days for what?” Father asked, hitting the nail on the head.

“To lock him in,” Arthur said.

“So you don't have an agreement with this person?”

“We still need to come to one,” Arthur said hastily, putting a palm up. “I just need two more days. Till Friday basically and then--”

Father tossed his napkin on the table and thundered. “I told you we had time concerns, Arthur. It's a no.”

“Father,” Arthur tried again, “it's just two days. Two days delay and we're getting the best dancer I've ever clapped eyes on...” Well, a few tweaks to his style were probably going to be needed, but he wasn't going to share that with his father. “He's really something else. He could make the difference as far as doing something new is concerned.”

“I told you,” Father said, “you had two more days. They run out tomorrow. We're not going off our schedule for any reason.”

“If Arthur feels Merlin is the best for him,” Mithian put in, “and I know he does, then perhaps this option should be considered. Friday isn't that far off and if this man is the perfect partner for Arthur as opposed to everyone else, then Arthur should probably try and do his best to get him.”

“No, that isn't under discussion,” Father said, politely but firmly. “I gave Arthur a time frame. Within that time frame Arthur will decide. If you think that any of the other dancers we saw are better than Forridel, you're free to make a deal with them. If on the other hand you prefer Forridel, you'll contact her to make arrangements. You will do it tomorrow. No delays. Now, let's enjoy our meal.”

Arthur slid forward in his seat, ready to take the floor again, but Mithian squeezed his upper arm. Arthur read that as a bide your time warning. Arthur did as Mithian suggested. As a matter of fact he developed a brand new plan of action there and there. “I suppose you're right,” he, in fact, said. “How about we concentrate on choosing a nice dessert?”

 

***** 

 

That Friday Arthur exited the Long Acre Starbucks he'd been biding his time at and made his way back to Covent Garden. As expected a few yards short of the entrance to the tube a crowd had gathered. They were forming cordons around two street performers. From the mop of dark hair that danced in the breeze Arthur recognised Merlin.

He was cross-stepping neatly, his face flushed, his legs tangling with those of his partner, before a kick turned them both around. It occasioned a crash of applause from the bystanders intent on enjoying the spectacle. Two or three people bent forwards to leave coins and banknotes in the upturned hat Merlin and Will had left for the purpose.

The music's tempo increased dramatically and so did Merlin and Will's. They were telling a story, one of love and rejection, attraction and loss. Arthur could fancy he knew the ins and outs of it just on the basis of the dancers' body language, the leaning in, the embraces, the quickened breathing that melded their chests together.

The crowd was as taken as Arthur was and when the climax came in a flurry of quick moves the applause was staggering.

Arthur's hands stung from all the clapping. When the onlookers dispersed, Arthur approached Merlin. "You could do great things if you let the world at large see you."

Merlin started and dropped the glove he'd been pulling on. "Are you stalking me?" he asked, sounding more miffed than scared at the prospect. 

Arthur laughed dismissively. "Now don't get ideas into your head."

Merlin glared. "You're quite cheeky, aren't you?" It was clear that that question needed no answer, for Merlin ploughed on without waiting for Arthur to provide one. "I mean here you are, turning up at my place of work--"

Arthur snorted.

"Without having been invited, might I add, and you have the guts to say that I am the one getting ideas?"

As Merlin finally paused, Arthur found an in to speak again. "Look, this is not what you think. I really do believe that you are a brilliant dancer, one I would love to be partnered with. I think we could do great things together and that's why I've come again."

"I dance because of the spirit of the dance," Merlin said, his voice hollow. He exchanged a look with Will here, who unlike the other time, was standing at a distance, merely glaring at Arthur rather than putting up a vocal opposition. "So it's once again a no."

Hands in his pockets, Arthur lifted his shoulders. "I see," he said, the sting of disappointment colouring his tone. He had believed that Merlin would yield this time around. He hadn't even said anything tragically stupid so far. "Well, I had to try because you don't get an opportunity like that, like you, so easily. But I see that you've made your decision." He took out his visiting card and gave it to Merlin. "There's my name and address on that. You can check me out on the internet and verify me and my story." Merlin's eyes were fastened on his, paying attention to every word Arthur was saying. This made Arthur hope Merlin was interested. He added, "I'll be having a cuppa at the Pain Quotidien down there. If you change your mind, you can catch me there."

"Okay," Merlin said, pocketing Arthur's visiting card. "I'll, uh, think about it."

"I'll sip slowly," Arthur said, raising his hand in goodbye.

Without watching Merlin and Will walk away, Arthur would his way down to Covent Garden market. He skirted past the rail that gave onto the court below, where a soprano was singing to the accompaniment of a musical CD. It was a dolorous aria, the voice trilling out its pain as it strove high and higher.

For a few minutes Arthur waited and listened. As far as impromptu numbers went this one was good, plus wasting time was exactly what he'd meant to do. He was giving Merlin space. When the singer's companion came up to him asking for donations, Arthur gave her a pound. Only when the first song was over did Arthur abandon his spot and make it inside the café.

He took a seat on the side opposite the door, near the window. He had a view of a market stall, colourful scarves and socks on display, as well as of a stretch of road. The notes of the piece of music playing on the radio on the bar counter mingled with the warbled alto of the singer from outside.

When the waiter arrived, Arthur had his eyes on the door.

"Ready to order?"

"I'm waiting for a friend," Arthur said, rather optimistically. "Could you come round again in a few minutes?"

"Sure," the waiter said, pocketing the device he used to jot down the order he'd believed pending "I'll leave the menus with you then."

As he waited for the unlikely to happen, Arthur browsed the menu. When he had it almost all by heart, he switched to the free newspaper someone had left on the chair next to his. Many times the door jingled, ushering in wind and patrons. Arthur counted a group of girlfriends chatting about the Opera, a French couple, and a tall hipster who ordered two pots of peppermint tea all for himself and later sank into reading a copy of a battered Sartre novel.

Arthur's waiter made the rounds many times, sending Arthur glances. Arthur gave him a small shrug and winced. He couldn't tell whether the man wanted to give him the boot for occupying a seat without placing an order or whether he commiserated Arthur on, as he might have thought, having been stood up. Either way it was embarrassing.

Arthur had just raised his hand to hail the waiter when the door sounded again. Arthur didn't even look, having lost all hope of having actually convinced Merlin. But when he lifted his head, he saw Merlin, the tip of his nose a wind-bitten red.

Merlin made a beeline for his table. "Is your offer still valid?"

 

***** 

 

Arthur pushed Merlin into the chair placed in front of the TV set.

Merlin's brow furrowed deeply and his eyes went small, sparking with challenge. "Tell me again why you are making me watch a video before you let me dance?"

"Because I want you to get acquainted with the routine first," Arthur said, resenting the fact he even had to offer an explanation when his motive was so obvious. "Get an idea of the kind of look we want to achieve."

"I learn better by doing," Merlin said, the deep wrinkles on his nose making him look like an annoying but endearing pug. 

Arthur squeezed his nostrils. "Can you just do as I say for a few minutes? The vid doesn't even last as long as we're taking arguing."

The line of Merlin's shoulders evened. "Okay, all right, I was just challenging your methodology."

And that was what Arthur hadn't been comfortable with. "Just watch, Merlin."

With Merlin's go-ahead, Arthur pressed 'play'. He didn't pay attention to the video himself. He knew it by heart, as he did his routine, but watched Merlin take it all in. He observed the spark of interest in Merlin's eyes, in the way he leant forwards when the screen version of Arthur segued from one aspect of the routine into another, unexpected one.

Arthur felt a low level excitement thrum in his veins at that. Merlin seemed to respond to the choreography in the way he ought to. He understood it in the way Arthur had hoped he would. Perhaps they were on the right track here. 

When the video was over, Arthur said, "So, are you ready to dance?"

"Are you joking?" Merlin's eyes were tiny slits of happiness. "I am itching to."

Merlin's enthusiasm as it happened, didn't serve to solve all their problems. Because they had plenty of those and they were all Merlin's fault. Merlin wouldn't follow Arthur's step patterns, trying to introduce a few that not only weren't part of Arthur and Morgana's routine, but that weren't allowed at all. He forced them into lead and follow sequences instead of trusting Arthur to just lead, and introduced elements randomly, if admittedly creatively.

His tempo changes weren't Arthur's and weren't suited to the piece they were dancing to. And then there were all the flourishes, kicks and fanciful motions Merlin tried to sneak in. He forced Arthur to follow his steps. In short, Merlin shot Arthur's choreography to hell and back. To make sense of the dance Arthur had to forget the sequence of steps he and Morgana had been working on and give up on all sense of expectation of what came next. All logic was lost.

Merlin, for his part, seemed to respond to his counters without a thought. It flowed naturally for him. He just charged the dance with movement. Like a charm he adjusted, suited his motions to Arthur's. That was when Arthur tried to bring them back on track, to lead him back to the choreography he and Morgana had mastered and that Father had created with a view to win.

Merlin though just burst out of the patterns, shaking free. And though Arthur could guess at what he was doing, that didn’t mean that he didn't hate the disruption.

When the two of them landed into a closer embrace than Arthur was used to, upper body contact full in place, his heaving chest brushing against Merlin's, Arthur felt both more connected to Merlin than he had ever been to anyone before, and completely at a loss to understand what the hell was going on dancing wise. He only knew that the dance they had just danced was in no way a real tango.

He had felt pleasure dancing it, his body flushed and heated pleasantly, and all the tension he had in the weeks during which auditions had taken place unravelled, but he was aware that if he danced that dance he wouldn't win the competition. 

The thought that he had been mistaken in going for Merlin caused him to say, "You can't follow an order to save your life, can you!" He pushed Merlin away. "What the hell, I showed you the dance on purpose so you could mimic the routine and you just did what you pleased."

"One," Merlin said, flinching at the shove, "I wasn't aware I had enrolled in the army. Two, I improved the dance. Your version was too stiff."

His breath stabbing him because of a mixture of muscular strain and rage, Arthur answered Merlin, his voice low and threatening, "You just ruined it!"

"What do you mean ruined it?" Merlin said, repeating Arthur's words as though they hadn't been clear enough the first time round, "I just improvised a little."

"Improvisation might work for your little street numbers--" Arthur said, with the slightest of sneers.

"You mean real Argentine Tango," Merlin interrupted him.

Arthur's nostrils flared. He went on as though Merlin hadn't spoken at all. "But it’s not allowed on the ballroom floor. What you just did there would have disqualified us."

Merlin's face crumpled and then eased into a moue of understanding. "I am sorry, Arthur, I didn't know they were so anal about their rules."

Arthur fists wouldn't uncurl. "That is why I showed you the vid. I trusted you to pick up the steps and follow them, you just blithely ignored me and gave me this dance full of improv."

"But you liked that improv!" Merlin said, showing he had no idea where Arthur was coming from. "You danced right into my moves, picked up what I was about to do before I did. You were better than any partner I've ever had, even Will."

Arthur's shoulders went up like hackles "That is entirely immaterial."

"But--"

Temples pounding, words dying in his throat, Arthur stalked off. He had almost made it to the door, when Merlin clamped a hand round his wrist. "Wait," he said, panting harder than he had when he'd just been done dancing. "I am sorry. You were right, I should have done what you wanted me to and I apologise for that." Another big release of breath came on the heels of that word. "Can we have a do over?"

Arthur bent his head, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "I made a bet on you."

Merlin's confusion sounded loud in his voice. "You bet money on me?"

"No," Arthur said, chuckling at the preposterousness of that assumption. "I asked you to become my partner against my father's ultimatum. I just gambled on you, both on you saying yes and on your style matching. You did the first--"

"But not the second, I see," Merlin said, guessing what Arthur meant. "Look, Arthur, I am sorry. It’s just that the way you tango is not the way I tango."

"There are rules," Arthur said, disappointingly not for the first time. "You can’t ignore them and expect not to be disqualified."

Merlin bobbed his head. "I do get that."

A little defeated, Arthur rubbed his scalp. "Do you want to win?"

"I am competitive."

"I did not ask for a description of your personality," Arthur said, slow and long suffering. "I just want to know if you're in this to win or if you're just fooling around." Arthur found a second breath. "Because I am still in time to get Forridel, who at least was serious about the championship."

Merlin made a quick study of his shoes. "Just teach me your stupid rules and I swear you will never see me break them again."

"I thought you'd read the rule book I gave you."

Merlin's lips twitched. "Did I tell you I am not a particularly bookish person?"

"I thought you could read a few pages just fine," Arthur huffed.

Merlin lifted his shoulders up to his ears. He blushed. "Just invite me over to yours. We'll go over the rules again and I promise I'll get those blasted regulations into my thick skull."

A weight came right off Arthur's chest. "Is that your way of scrounging off a date?" Arthur asked, not quite believing his own words but wanting to repay Merlin in kind for his assumption Arthur had been hitting on him when he'd asked him to dance together.

Merlin's neck coloured to a ripe shade over the collar of his sweat-stained black t-shirt. "No, you, one track minded dick-head--" There was some copious blinking on Merlin's part right then, as if he couldn't believe the words he's just said. "I just want to pull in my weight."

“Okay, then," said Arthur, a gratified smile pasted onto his lips. "Be at mine tomorrow at eight, I'll text you the address."

 

****** 

 

Water sluiced off his shoulders with the last of the lather that had been on his head. It steamed off his body and turned his strained muscles to jelly. Under the spray, Arthur rooted his feet on the porcelain floor, and bent his head. 

The doorbell went off with a flourish, its sound muffled by the pelting of the water on his body. "What the fuck!" Arthur said, throwing a glance at his watch. It was only seven. It couldn't possibly be Merlin already. “Shit.”

Thanks to some efficient wrist action, Arthur quickly turned off the tap, the jet dying off to nothingness, leaving Arthur cold and shivering. After having stepped out of the shower, Arthur wrapped a towel around his middle. He only gave his hair one quick brush off before he rushed to the door, skidding barefoot on the wooden floorboards. 

The open door let in a gust of chilly air. It also showed Merlin. He was standing on Arthur's welcome mat, wearing a sheepish smile and carrying a bag of groceries. When Merlin realised Arthur was less then dressed, he dropped his eyes. Or at least he did, Arthur reckoned, after having given Arthur a complete once over. "Hello,” he said, clutching his bag tightly.

Rather fruitlessly, Arthur said, "Merlin, I wasn't expecting you so early!"

"I've been at loose ends since my shift ended and, well, I no longer dance with Will, so I had some free time. I thought I'd do some apology shopping and drop by a bit sooner? I can take a stroll and come back later," Merlin said, pointing his thumb at the hallway behind him.

Mrs du Bois, his grey haired, owl-eyed neighbour chose that moment to open the door, the head of her pug poking out first, its leash going taut as the dog sought the stairs while its owner lingered on to observe the scene unfolding in the hallway. Which she did thoroughly, right before saying, "In my day we waited until after we'd opened the door to go down to business."

Merlin coughed, his ears flaming. He tugged at his lobe with the restlessness of the ill-at-ease. "I can come back later, as I said."

Squinting at Mrs du bois, Arthur pulled Merlin in by the shoulder, his towel nearly dropping from his hips as a result of the brisk movement. Its shift revealed a length of pelvic bone. "Don't be stupid, Merlin, you're very welcome--" The imp evidently sitting on his shoulder who enjoyed yanking Mrs du bois' chain made him add one word: "Love.”

Before stalking off to the tempo set off by the bark of her dog, Mrs du bois looked daggers at Arthur. The words 'the youth of today have no shame' were heard sounding down the corridor. 

Arthur slammed the door with too much force. "Sorry for that," he said, his lips curving into a smile when he noticed how flustered Merlin was. He displayed such passion as a dancer, he had such sexual chemistry with Will when they tangoed, that Arthur hadn't thought him capable of bashfulness. The thought that he was indeed experiencing it washed away Arthur's annoyance at having been interrupted mid shower. "She's just a gossip with a ready-made deprecatory comment on the verge of slipping past her lips at all times."

"I just didn't want her to think of you as my boy toy," Merlin said, having recovered some of his wits and presence of mind. "And the offer still stands. I can pop downstairs while you dress."

"Don't be as thick as a plank, Merlin," Arthur said, feeling extremely good in his skin for some reason and not at all cross anymore. "I am not that shy. I can change in my bedroom while you store the stuff you bought in the kitchen.”

As he'd said, Arthur went to his bedroom and started opening drawers. Before Merlin came he had planned to wear a hoodie and a pair of jogging bottoms. But with Merlin in the other room he had changed his mind. He pulled out half the contents of his topmost drawer before he landed on a choice of jumper he was satisfied with. It was a black cashmere one that was soft on his skin and looked good on the freshly laundered jeans he'd just put on.

After a comb down, Arthur pronounced himself ready and left the bedroom.

Merlin was reheating something in the microwave when Arthur made it to the kitchen. He whipped rapidly round and said, "I thought we could have pizza first."

"Pizza?” Arthur said, “okay, but if I had known you wanted pizza I would have ordered in and spared you the expense.'"

'"No worries, I can afford a few pizza slices," Merlin said, with a humorous twist of his mouth. 

Arthur opened drawers to get at the cutlery. “If you're sure.”

"You don't need to take out the silverware," Merlin said.

Stifling a laugh, Arthur shook his head. "Who the hell taught you manners? You're my guest. Of course I'm not letting you eat bare-handed, savage style."

A shadow darkened Merlin's face. It wasn't a change in the room's lighting, but rather a narrowing of Merlin's pupils that made his eyes appear slightly different, taking the light out his face. "Oh, sorry," he said faux lightly. "I nearly forgot I was talking to a gentleman here."

Arthur didn't know what he had done wrong to get that response from Merlin. The man had been much more friendly ever since they had agreed to compete together. The hostility they had started on was no longer there, buried almost as soon as it had been born. Merlin was, Arthur believed, incapable of harbouring it for long, especially once he had established Arthur wasn't a crazed stalker. Its return made Arthur feel awkward. He shifted and scratched at the stubble he hadn't shaved off yet. "Why don't we go back to the living room and watch those competition vids I talked to you about? So you can see the rules in action?"

Merlin mellowed. "All right," he said, putting the now heated pizza slices on a large platter. "Go ahead, I'll follow you with the food."

Arthur retreated to the other room, sinking into the sofa with some relish. A few moments later Merlin appeared, balancing a tray. Remote in hand, Arthur turned the telly on. The videos he had selected were already in the player and Arthur had nothing more to do than to press play.

They watched last year competitions and a vid from 2009. Using live action as an example and pausing often to point out his meaning, Arthur went over the rules with Merlin once again.

"So basically," Merlin said, "no chest to chest, but you're allowed these weird more twitchy movements--"

"We call them staccato, Merlin," Arthur said with all the patience he could master. 

"And that head-snapping move there." Merlin circled his index finger at the screen. “That's allowed.”

"Among other things," Arthur said.

"But no improv," Merlin said, not sounding too happy about that.

"No," Arthur agreed, not wanting Merlin to get ideas. "And I think you now have a fair idea of the steps that are allowed."

Merlin bit at his lower lip. "I do think I can do them now."

"Good," Arthur said. "Just remember, we're doing none of your volcadas, calesitas, planeos, and barridas.  We will be dancing in parallel foot system, not the cross foot one as you were trying the other day."

"Oi, I get that." This time Merlin's lips twitched with good humour, his previous bout of melancholy entirely forgotten. Perhaps Merlin had only been stressing about learning a new this style. Only one question was left to be asked. Arthur said, "So do you have any idea of what is going to actually happen on the day of the competition?"

Merlin made round eyes at him. "Why, what is going to happen? You're making it sound so ominous."

"Nothing strange,” Arthur reassured Merlin. “Just wanted to explain the typical competition goings on. So to start with we're going to be issued a number."

"Okay," Merlin said. "This doesn't sound too bad, I guess." 

"The event is going to be divided into several preliminary rounds, with some 20 couples."

"That's a lot of people dancing."

Arthur smiled a sharkish smile. "Don't worry. A lot of those people are going to be eliminated early on. So you'll have something like 12 couples for the semi-final, and some six-ish for the final."

"And our aim is to get there," Merlin said.

"I've never not made it to the finals," Arthur said. "Each heat lasts approximately two minutes. During this time, the judges mark the couples they want to see again in the next round."

"And we want to keep going," Merlin said.

"Obviously," Arthur answered with a conspiratorial grin. "At first it's going to be easy, because you'll start charged up, amped up, but as the evening wears on you might tire."

Merlin waggled his eyebrows. "I have stamina, I'll have you know."

"Well, this is quite different, a laborious process, and there's the competition to think about so you may get a bit tired. But you mustn't allow yourself to think too much about that."

"I get it, this is a sport for Neanderthals," Merlin snorted out.

"Idiot." Arthur bumped shoulders with Merlin, amity restored, before continuing with his illustration of the championship's typical goings on. "The next time the event is called, the announcer will call back the numbers of the couples that are still in the competition."

“There can be only one," Merlin quipped, eyes tiny slits of merriment.

"Basically, yeah," Arthur said. Merlin wasn’t far off the mark with that comment. "Call backs aren't going to be done in numerical order. So pay attention."

"You planning not to?"

"I can't be in charge of everything," Arthur answered. "And I want you focused."

"I'll prick my ears.”

"See that you do because this process repeats until the final round."

"If we get there." Merlin kicked at Arthur’s shin with the heel of his battered trainers.

"Of course we will," Arthur said, needing Merlin to walk into the competition with the right attitude. "We'll be among the finalists, that's for sure. And then we'll wait like good kids for the judges' announcement. And make no mistake we will be named the winners. We'll get the ribbon."

"And the prize money," Merlin interjected, with a smile.

"And the prize money," Arthur said, not wanting Merlin to believe the lure he had used to convince him to join in wasn't real. "And my reputation will be untarnished. We'll both get what we want. And when she comes back, Morgana will seethe thinking I won without her."

"You're a horrid brother," Merlin said, a loud snort escaping him this time. 

"Nah, just playing on Morgana's dark side. Being jealous will be a good motivator for her to recuperate as quick as she can."

"I don't see how your reasoning works."

"Oh," Arthur said, trying to explain. "She'll fear we'll all forget her. That her audience will. You will be getting all the accolades in her place, that'll get her worked up."

“And that's good?” Merlin asked, sceptically.

“Yeah, given the right incentive she'll focus harder on getting better.”

"You're devious," Merlin said, the light of understanding shining in his eyes. "Besides, we haven't got the cat in the bag yet, not by a long shot."

"From the way you're talking, it sounds like you don't have faith in our chances," said Arthur, studying Merlin's quizzical expression. "And secondly, you don't have a sister so you'd know that devious action is sometimes needed to get a sibling where you want them to, even if it's for their own good."

With a chuckle Merlin said, "No you caught me out. I am an only child."

"So no other tango fans at home?" Arthur asked, not really meaning to probe but wanting to garner some extra knowledge of Merlin. Aside from his dancing, Arthur had no idea what kind of person he was, what he enjoyed, what his family was like. No time like the present to find out. 

"No, it's just me basically," Merlin said. "And anyway my mum was so poor back in the day that she didn't have time for anything that wasn't one of her three jobs.'

“I am sorry," Arthur said. "Perhaps that was too personal a question."

"No, no it wasn't," Merlin said. He wasn't just trying to put Arthur at his ease. He honestly seemed to understand the reasons that had led Arthur to put his foot in his mouth. “It’s okay, really. You were just making small talk.”

Still Arthur wasn't content with that. "I shouldn't have probed. I know what people probing is like and how unwelcome it can be. See, my mother died young and people sometimes asked questions I wasn't too keen to answer."

"Then it's me who's sorry," Merlin said, putting his hand on Arthur's knee. “That's a terrible loss... ”

Arthur nodded. To this day he still felt a tug to his heart whenever someone mentioned his mother. "I wanted to talk about it," Arthur said, chin thrust out.

“That's brave,” Merlin said, breathing gustily. "I like you, Arthur. I really do." His eyes were searching Arthur's and Arthur was sure Merlin could, thanks to some unfathomable ability, read all his secrets. 

"Yeah, well, don't overdo it now,” Arthur said, needing space to come to terms with Merlin’s all over the place emotional response. “You've only got to pretend you're mad about me when we're dancing for the jury, not all the time.” Arthur blew on his fist. “Though I admit my charm is limitless.”

Merlin elbowed him in the ribs and laughed. “Idiot,” he said, cracking up with laughter. 

“Idiot!” Arthur screeched. “Idiot? I'll give you idiot.” They teased and wrestled on the sofa for a while until they were breathless with it. When they were, Arthur pushed Merlin back – he'd nearly landed on top of him – straightened his shirt and, with as much nonchalance as possible, said, "Let's just watch these videos, shall we?"

 

**** 

 

Now that Merlin was more knowledgeable about the ways of ballroom tango and could recite the rules by heart, Arthur decided it was time for him to be introduced to Father. Arthur deemed him ready and there was no postponing the meeting. Father needed to tweak their routine to accommodate Merlin's own style. To do so, he needed to see him in action, evaluate his strengths and weaknesses as a dancer.

That Sunday morning, Arthur got Merlin to meet him at the dance studio. They both changed in the locker room, Merlin's body a revelation of sharp lines and lean muscles. Neither disposed of matching costumes yet, so Arthur warned him about that.

Pulling down his clean sweatshirt, Merlin asked, "Can't I get a replica of your costume and call it a day?"

Arthur tried not to gawk at Merlin, so he concentrated on his answer instead, "No, believe me when I say that every particular must be seen to. It's part of what the judges judge."

"And here I thought you were having a fashionista moment, like that Prada film with that actress that always wins every Oscar."

Arthur grunted out a laugh. "Hardly, I hate having to try new outfits on, but it's part of the deal," he said, before dragging Merlin into the studio.

They met Father there.

"That isn't Forridel," he said, his eyebrow archly drawn up, his tone one of deep dissatisfaction.

"No, obviously, Arthur said, since there was no point in hedging. Merlin was very much not Forridel. "He is the person I talked to you about."

"Why is he here?" Father asked as if that wasn't obvious.

"Because he accepted my offer and is going to be my new partner," Arthur said calmly, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Merlin here is a great dancer. He's going to stun you."

Arthur could see that his father was grinding his teeth by the way his jowls stuck together. "And I suppose you want me to work on your choreography, and on promoting you?"

"Yes," Arthur said, because that was what he had wanted all along. "So we can win."

"No," Father said, without adding any more of an explanation as to the reasons behind his refusal. "I won't."

"But Father you just said I had to choose quick and I did," said Arthur, grabbing him by the sleeve before he could walk away. "You even seemed all right with Merlin if I could get him fast. What's wrong? You've always choreographed me, all this time."

"Not this time," Father said, sounding more final than before.

"I don't understand why." It didn't make much sense. It was true that Father had wanted Forridel, but he had only been adamant about the timing of it. Otherwise he only wanted Arthur to win. Backing off on his offer to do the choreography would mean that Arthur would lose. And that was something Arthur was sure Father didn't want. "I really don't understand why you're doing this."

"By choosing him, you're throwing your chances to the wind," Father said, tightly but vehemently. "And I won't stand by that."

"Merlin is a wild card, yes," Arthur admitted. "But he's also one of the best dancers I've ever seen--" Merlin double took at this. "And he might as well be the breath of fresh air that the judges will be eager to latch on to."

"Merlin may be new but he is also a man," Father said, his face a mask of tension, disapproval. "Do you really think many of the judges will be so open as to accept that?"

"It's not against the rules."

"Even I know that now," Merlin said in a misjudged attempt to defuse the situation with humour.

"It may not be against the rules," Father said, "but it's not what the judges are used to. It's not the visuals they're accustomed to. They will be in no way prepared for the show you're putting on."

This time Merlin took a step forward and took part in the conversation that had mostly only starred himself and his father. "The show we'll be putting on is just tango." Lines creased Merlin's forehead. "Unless you're talking downright homophobia."

The stark line of Father's jaw jumped. "I am not saying two men shouldn't be dancing together. I frankly don't care. But traditionalists won't be appreciating your choice."

"You can't know that," Merlin said, making a valid point.

"Believe me," Father said, so stiffly he might have as well have been sneering. "I know how they function very well. I know their tastes, their favourite performances, hell, I even know their hobbies. I have made it my life's study to be sure of what those people like."

"Father," Arthur said, pleading. “Don't turn your back on me.”

Merlin meanwhile continued trying to sound reasonable. "You can't be sure of the judges’ reactions beforehand. Maybe they'll just vote for the best performance."

"I am certain they will," Father said. "But they will be influenced by the dictates of tradition. A great couple will win, but it won't be you."

"That's defeatist talk, sir," Merlin said, probably a last ditch attempt to persuade Father by playing on his sense of self worth.

"But very true," Father said. "In good conscience I must do my best to help my son win. If that involves not training or choreographing him if he persists in having you as his partner, then so be it."

Arthur balled his fists. "So this is blackmail."

Father scoffed. "I prefer to call it reasonable persuasion."

Anger coiled in burning sparks around Arthur's spine. "Then you won't be finding me reactive to it. I won't be moved by your iron fist, by your inability to accept what I think is right."

Father's humming expressed his full annoyance. "It's on the judges, not on me."

"Now don't use them as a scapegoat," Arthur said, "just because you don't have it in you to do this."

"It's for your own good, Arthur," said Father in the same tone he'd adopted when giving a much younger Arthur foul tasting meds.

"I don't believe that," Arthur said, molars grinding. "I'll take my chances with Merlin. We'll dance our best without any need for your help."

"Very well," said Father, sounding final. "Then we must part ways."

Merlin sent him an alarmed glance, but Arthur nodded. "So long, Father."

Without looking back, Uther Pendragon walked away.

Merlin sidled up to him. "Are you sure about that? I mean I can back off."

Arthur wasn't. Father was great and losing him would affect them, but he wouldn't give up on Merlin now for anything in the world. It was the principle of the thing. "Yes, Merlin, I am sure."

Arthur stared at the empty corridor ahead of him. 

"Well, if you're sure, I'll have to do my very best," Merlin said, determination rising in his tones.

 

***** 

 

The smell of roses was overwhelming to the point Arthur was glad he'd bought fairly odourless daisies. Light washed in from the vertical curtains, lighting the top of Morgana's hair a foxy auburn. Morgana's face was free of make up today, and there were a few shadows under her eyes that the light cascading over her highlit.

Arthur ambled into the room, the flowers he had brought a shield. “Hey,” he said, wincing at the skidding noise his trainers soles made on the clean linoleum floor. “How are you doing?”

Morgana smoothed the sheets covering her; they were whiter than her hands. “Very well for someone who's about to undergo surgery.”

Arthur winced. He extended the flowers to her.

Morgana arched an eyebrow.

Humming under his breath, Arthur placed the flowers in an empty vase, then dragged a chair next to the bed. He sat on it, feet pushing off the floor every few seconds or so. 

“I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I?” Morgana asked, her lips twisting.

“No, what no,” Arthur said, the protestation coming out in a screech. “I've come to be with you till they take you to surgery. And I'll be there once you're out.”

“There's no need for you to stay, you know,” Morgana said, this time with decision. “I know hospitals make you nervous.”

“I can get over it,” Arthur said. Though she was putting up a serene front, Morgana looked pale and tense. That just wasn't right. He could cope with a few hours in a hospital, if Morgana needed him. “I want to be there for you.”

Morgana nearly smiles. “That's quite sweet but not necessary.”

“Oh, come off it,” Arthur said, smirking a little bit at Morgana's sufficiency. “You're pissing yourself.”

“Hardly.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her hospital gown puffing up and outwards as she did. “I'm not afraid of some silly little surgery.”

“Of course not,” Arthur said, his upper lip quivering into a near grin.

“My doctor explained what would happen in detail, so I'm not pissing myself,” Morgana said archly, if not prissily. “You on the other hand... You're terrified of hospitals. You honestly look as though you're about to barf.”

Arthur snorted, but he did feel some subterranean kind of unease at the knowledge he was indeed in a hospital. The small hairs on his arms and nape had risen, and he couldn't quite manage to sit still. That didn't mean he couldn't try to master the symptoms of that discomfort or that Morgana had to know about it. “I'm not about to barf--” In search of a different subject to discuss, his eyes searched the room. His eyes landed on the boxes on the dresser. “I see you've got plenty of chocolates. Try and not to eat too many or you'll get too fat to ever dance again.”

“Idiot,” Morgana said, lowering her eyes to his belly. “I'd think about your love handles if I were you.”

Arthur sucked in a deep breath, forcing his belly in. “I just had a pint before coming in...”

“Yeah, yeah, blame it on the beer.”

Arthur turned the telly on, but the blathering voices and silly afternoon programmes bored him flat within five minutes. Lowering the remote, he said, “Has Father been?”

“He has,” Morgana said, her eyes on the telly affixed to the wall. “And he'll come back later. You can be sure that he's already asked when I was going to be ready to dance again.”

“He would.” Arthur shook his head.

“He tells me you've found a new partner.”

“Yeah true,” Arthur conceded. Not wanting to worry Morgana with his problems he didn't delve further into that.

“He told me he isn't training you.”

So news travelled fast. Arthur hadn't thought his father one to air private business, but evidently Morgana had made him blab. She was good like that. 

“Merlin and I are doing very well on our own.” They did have the choreography Arthur had been supposed to dance with Morgana and he had sent Merlin a pile of recordings of male-male tango dancers they could get pointers from. “We'll work out our own variations.”

“Father's numbers are usually the best though,” Morgana said, talking right over him. “You should try and persuade him.”

“You think I didn't?” Arthur said, incredulous. “I did,” he added, with decreasing fervour. “He just wouldn't even contemplate the idea of shaking the system up a bit.”

“You've never been one for shaking things up though,” Morgana said, her brow heavy with new lines. “What's changed?”

“I saw Merlin dance,” Arthur said, making light of it. “He can bring something to the table.”

“Are you sure it's only that?” Morgana asked, unwittingly echoing Mithian's similar question.

Arthur tapped his foot in a harsh tempo, once, twice, against the floor. “Of course, I'm sure. Why else would have I asked him to be my partner?”

Morgana shrugged, the sleeve of her hospital gown baring her shoulder. “Maybe you were smitten—”

“Morgana.” Arthur held a finger up, cautionary.

“Maybe he gives off a vibe you like. That happens,” Morgana said, pulling up her gown while giving him a shrewd look. “I'll talk to Father and see if I can persuade him to help you.”

Just as Arthur's shoulders went up, a nurse opened the door, ushering in a gaggle of staff. “Are we ready for surgery, dear?”

Biting her lip, Morgana looked away. “You did promise to fix my ankle.”

The nurse approached Morgana's bed. “Yes, dear. We will.” She unhooked the gurney-bed from the wall and moved the drip stand. “In less than two hours you'll be back in your room and on the road to recovery.”

“I'll be waiting here,” Arthur said, suddenly thinking of all the things that could go wrong and how he might possibly never see Morgana again.

“I'll be a little drugged up,” Morgana said, “but that will probably lead to some creative teasing.”

The nurse smiled at them both before wheeling Morgana out.

“See you later,” Arthur called out.

“I'll talk to Father,” Morgana shouted back.

Arthur took up the book Morgana had left on the night-stand and tried reading it, but it was boring existential Russian shit, so he gave up in favour of the telly.

He was a few minutes into a really strange docu, when the door opened. Before Arthur could wonder who it was, Father poked his head in. “I... Is she gone?”

“They took her to surgery ten minutes ago,” Arthur said, switching off the TV.

“Oh, I'll go wait in the corridor.”

Arthur stood up, the chair rattling as it was being pushed backwards, a loud scrape that only died into silence when its legs settled back on the floor. “There's no need. We can wait together.”

“I'll just go sit in the corridor,” Father reiterated, before disappearing back into the hallway.

Arthur turned the TV back on.

 

*****

 

They stepped, twisted, and turned around, sliding down the length of the practice floor, their legs going in and out of poses they held just long enough for an absent judge to keep track of, their legs tangling and disentangling with a new ease. This ease had come from practising together for the past two weeks.

Arthur and Merlin could now do their number without bumping into each other or dancing to different styles. Getting here hadn't been easy. Merlin had been trying to abide by the new set of rules Arthur had introduced him to. Arthur had witnessed his attempts at overhauling his style, but they had still been making mistakes. Merlin had tried to lead when Arthur had been supposed to, at least if they considered Merlin to be Morgana's replacement. Arthur had voiced his discontent with this. Merlin had protested, saying he didn't understand why Arthur should have the lead. “Why can't it be a give and take?”

“Because that's Argentine tango, not ballroom,” Arthur had said, more petulantly perhaps than he should have been.

They had each gone to their own corner to sulk. Under the pretence of drinking their health supplements, they scowled at each other, arms crossed. This had lasted until Arthur said, “Fucking hell, all right, we'll be trying it both ways, with you leading and me leading. We'll see how it goes and then decide.”

Merlin's pout hadn't evaporated for the longest time.

“Do I have to beg?” Arthur had said, just about ready to march off in a high dudgeon.

But Merlin had smiled very, very sweetly and Arthur hadn't been able to find the guts to do what he had proposed. They'd just danced the dance but with their roles switched. It worked like a charm.

From then on, they danced using the same pattern, switching leads as they perfected their step sequences. Having found a compromise, their dancing patterns smoothed out. They came to a point where their moves flowed sequentially one into the other.

Their embrace open, they strutted across the dance floor, stomped, told their story of love and passion. They glided across the floor, flexing their lower limbs, their feet following to catch up with the rest, a pause in between, snatches of motion that matched the staccato tempo of the piece of music they had selected. 

Breath coming fast, Arthur felt proud of their achievement. He could feel it in his bones. He knew they were giving a good spectacle or they would have had if anyone had been there to witness their performance. But as they segued into the last series of steps, something did feel lacking. The swish of Morgana's gowns and her graceful hand moves had used to provide the drama necessary to their closure. But Merlin had no skirt to flounce, and the range of his moves was sparer and less eye-catching than Morgana's. That worked for him, though it made for a considerably less flashy grand finale. Arthur couldn't compel Merlin to become Morgana and express himself the way she did, but as he panted his way into the last embrace, he felt that something was wrong. “We need to review that finale,” Arthur said, his chest rising rapidly.

As breathless as him, Merlin said, “And some of the step sequences in the middle. I can do it the way your father choreographed, but I think we can push the envelope more.”

Hands still on Merlin's hips, Arthur said, “I agree.”

“So you do want to change the routine?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, staying in position until his breath had evened a little. “I'm thinking of tweaking it and making it ours.”

Merlin's eyes sparkled. “I'd love that. I mean I can dance this routine but I'd love to do something more personal.”

“Let's go hit the library,” Arthur said, enthusiasm overwhelming him and making him want to go right this minute.

Merlin's face fell. “The library. Why the library?”

“Because it's got plenty of books on the subject, with images and step by step instructions,” Arthur said, mouth flapping a bit because that seemed obvious.

“Can't we watch other videos?” Merlin asked, his shoulders up.

“We can't copy other performances, Merlin,” Arthur said, one of his eyebrows travelling upwards. “They could disqualify us if we did.”

“But steps are steps – they belong to everyone!” Merlin said, his street dancer instincts coming to the fore again. On the streets you were free to do pretty much whatever you wanted. If you copied a famous performance nobody would do anything but clap. “A dance is a dance.”

“Not in our case,” said Arthur. “Now come, before the libraries close.”

The library was a squat building with a flat roof. It was painted a drab grey with red columns that punctuated every file of windows. At the gates, Merlin halted. “Are you sure it's still open?” he asked, digging his heels into the gravel.

“Yeah, I'm positive,” Arthur said, pointing to the notice before them. “We still have an hour and then some.”

“Oh, okay,” Merlin said, and only then followed him inside the building.

It was Arthur who did the honours, finding the books he wanted and who went up to the librarian to get them. After nodding at Arthur's list, the employee disappeared into a back room that gave her access to shelves upon shelves of books. Within ten minutes, she had come back with the pile of tomes Arthur needed. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said, taking the pile and locating a free table. 

Merlin trotted after him. Arthur laid the books on the desk he had chosen and split the pile in two. “You get these,” he said, patting the bunch of books. “I'll go through these.”

Merlin hummed a little, shifting from foot to foot. “So what do I do with them?”

“Find a nice flashy step sequence we could use for the finale,” said Arthur before seating himself and opening the tome closest to him. “Anything you think that could be incorporated in our routine and would make an impression.”

“Right,” Merlin said, scuffing his foot. “I'll get started then.”

Arthur started flipping pages and skim reading, bypassing all choreographies he didn't think would fit their routine. From time to time Arthur lifted his eyes to study Merlin. He had a hand splayed on a page and frowned at the other. While Arthur took notes, he simply turned pages. Arthur couldn't tell whether he was skim reading or not paying attention at all, but he had a feeling Merlin wasn't giving this enterprise his all. “Merlin, I know this is boring. This is stuff that my father usually does, but can we, I dunno, work on this to snatch that win?”

Merlin's ears got red. “Sure, I... I was reading, promise.”

“Didn't look much like it,” Arthur said, not wanting to tell Merlin off, but really needing his help. “Just try and concentrate, yeah?”

Merlin's tooth sunk into his lower lip, making it blanch from the pressure. “Right, concentrate,” he mumbled, bending his head so that his fringe fell forward, obscuring his features. “Concentrate.”

Arthur was taking notes, dawdling the step sequence when Merlin cleared his throat. “Would this work?” he asked, turning the book upside down for Arthur to see. He tapped a page displaying a series of pictures of two dancers doing a combination of slow walks and a tango close crowned by a giro and pivoting motion that was supposed to work without a weight change. An open back step was used to continue the pivot into a double chase. 

“Yeah, I think this could work,” Arthur said, smiling widely at Merlin. 

Merlin's uncertain expression morphed into one of joy. “Really, you think this is okay?”

“I think this is perfect.” Arthur slapped the page with some force. “It's flashy and decisive, eye catching and not easy technique wise. And that'll get us points. This is us.”

Merlin's eyes danced with pride. “Then we're done.”

“For today,” Arthur agreed, scooping up Merlin's book and adding, “I'll go make a copy of this for reference. Just wait here.” 

Perhaps it was because they were getting near to closing time, but the queue for the photocopier was longer than Arthur had imagined, comprising at least ten people. As it snaked forwards, Arthur tapped his shoe and mumbled impatiently. There was a guy making a ton of copies who virtually hogged the machine for ten whole minutes. When at last he was down and went away carrying a pile of texts, photocopies and fluttering notes, Arthur fetched a sigh of relief. At last it was his turn. He made quick business of what he had to do. The machine's lights blinked and the copier spat out sheet after sheet imprinted with patterns and step sequences.

Once he was done, Arthur gathered his stuff and went back to Merlin. Except he almost didn't recognise their desk because he didn't see Merlin straight away. Getting closer he understood why that was. Merlin had both arms folded on the desk, on top of an open book, his cheek plastered to a page. He was softly snoring.

Arthur's stomach burned with a burst of affection, or something close to it. It slipped into his heart, with gun-shot quickness. A hand cradling his head, fingers tangling in Merlin's mop of hair, Arthur leant over Merlin and tried to subtly shake him.

“Merlin, come on, wake up,” Arthur said, trying not to startle Merlin but wanting to wake him up. The library was closing in five minutes. “Merlin!”

Merlin gave a longer snore and then blinked. “What?” he asked. “Where--?” He looked around and then understanding lit his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It's just that I've got this part-time job too and it's doing me in. I've been falling asleep in random places for a while now.”

“Oh,” Arthur said. “Let me drive you home then.”

“Nah, no use,” Merlin said, as he started to gather his things to leave. “I have a shift in five hours anyway, and I live miles from where the warehouse is. So there's little point going home. I guess I'll hang around at a bar, and then go in a little earlier.

“Look,” Arthur said, putting the material they had gathered in his sports bag, “I can let you crash at my place. So you can actually put in a couple of hours sleep. I'll wake you up myself.”

“I don't know—”

Arthur said, “Come on, it's no bother to me and I think it's going to take a load off your chest.”

“All right,” Merlin said, hinting at a sleepy smile. “Thanks.”

 

**** 

 

“And this is me,” Arthur said, ushering Merlin into his flat. 

Merlin looked around all big eyes, but he made no comment.

By the door, Arthur put his sports bag down and hung his coat. “You can take the couch,” he said, swiping his hand at it. “I'll go get you fresh sheets.”

Arthur made to walk into his room, where all his bed linen was stashed, but was stopped by Merlin's hand around his wrist. “Thank you. I mean you didn't have to do this and you did, so, yeah, thanks.”

“Hey, you're my partner,” Arthur said, tongue tripping over the words, “of course I want you well rested, which you wouldn't be if you kept your crazy hours.”

“Well, not all of us can just dance for a living as much as we'd love to,” said Merlin and though a putdown was inherent in the words, Merlin was smiling and his eyes, though still muddled and murky with sleep, were dancing. “But still thanks.”

“I'll go get you night things.”

Arthur got Merlin sheets, two blankets and a combo of jogging bottoms and tee to sleep in. With his arms loaded, he walked back to the living room.

“Whoa,” Merlin said, grabbing the top two items from the pile, “you went all out.”

“Hardly,” Arthur said, starting to do the sofa up for the night, batting off cushions, providing pillows and laying down the sheets. 

Merlin helped and before long they had a bed for him. 

“I can make you dinner too,” Arthur said, smoothing out a pillow case.

“No need,” Merlin said. “I'll just try and get some shut eye.” He fiddled with his watch, evidently setting his alarm. “Which I think I'll get now, if you don't mind? You can watch TV and fuss around. I can sleep through everything. I'm used to roughi-- I'm used to all sorts of noises.”

Arthur felt there was more that Merlin had wanted to say. He was of a half a mind to ask what that was, but decided not to. “I'll wake you, you don't need that,” he said instead. “Just tell me when.”

“Give me two hours,” Merlin said.

“Right, I will,” Arthur said, watching Merlin nip into the bathroom and re-emerging with Arthur's clothes on.

“Night, Arthur,” said Merlin slipping under the blankets. “Good night.”

“Sleep tight.” 

As Merlin turned on his side, Arthur went back to his room. He settled on his back, telly blaring on mute while he read one of the books he'd borrowed from the library. Usually it was Father who came up with all the eye catching choreography ideas. Now he was alone with this. But doing some reading now wasn't a bad idea since he needed to stay awake so he could wake Merlin in turn. 

Arthur perused a few more passages, took some notes, put the book aside, and started flipping channels. When it was half past midnight, Arthur padded into the other room. 

Merlin was lying on his back, his mouth open, his right arm thrown over his eyes. His legs were pointing in different directions and his heavy breathing marked the rhythm of his sleep. 

Arthur felt a wash of emotion stir in him and stab his heart like a pinprick. As Arthur stood there, contemplating how hard working Merlin was, one minute slipped into another. 

Merlin didn't stir the whole time; the only movement Arthur detected was that of the slight breeze stirring the window curtains. 

With a shake, Arthur went to the kitchen. He raided the fridge, taking out a packet of bacon, some cheddar and pickles. Lathering lots of butter on two slices of bread, he started making a sandwich. He poured a glass of milk and wrapped one of the two sandwiches in cellophane while he let the other rest on a plate. 

When these were ready, he walked over to Merlin. With a hand on his shoulder, he gave him a subtle shake. “Merlin, it's time to wake up.”

Merlin transitioned from asleep to awake nearly seamlessly. The only indicator that he had been deeply under was the fierce redness of his eyes. “Oh, yes, I'll go shower and change.”

“Before you do that, you might want to eat something.”

Merlin's mouth softened and lifted at the corners. “You made me a midnight breakfast.”

“Yeah, I thought that if you had a long shift...” Arthur trailed off, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“I didn't know you cared,” Merlin said, his cheeks puffing up either side of a big grin.

Arthur knuckled Merlin's scalp, making Merlin look entirely unpresentable. “Go eat, shower and get a comb down.”

“Whose fault is it if I look like the mad doctor character from Back to the Future?”

“Shut up, Merlin, and be thankful I didn't do worse.”

In two bites, Merlin wolfed down the sandwich on the plate, then rushed to the bathroom. When Merlin reappeared he looked ready to go, trainers laced, shirt tucked. Arthur passed him the bag with the sandwich. “Here,” he said, sponging the work-top free of crumbs.

“Thank you,” Merlin said in an amused tone that on reflection should have warned Arthur of what was about to happen next. Merlin leant over and pressed a kiss against his lips.

 

***** 

 

Merlin went backwards, balancing on his right foot, causing Arthur to advance on his left until their respective feet were aligned. With a smile and a tempo overtake, he shifted on his opposite side, leading with the left while Arthur did the opposite. Ready to prepare for the next step, Arthur finished this sequence on the outside. 

The music straining with passion, Merlin pressed forward, Arthur moving backwards, counter stepping.

With a smooth transition, Merlin met him. 

Crossing his left foot in front of the right one, Arthur walked backwards.

Merlin was about to shift his weight in response, when the crackle of clapping drowned the music and shot their tempo. Both stopped dancing. 

Arthur turned and saw Morgana, bandaged foot up on the rail, sitting in the stands to the south side of their practice room. 

“You're doing quite well, I see,” she said. “Not quite as good as I am, but smooth enough.”

“Morgana,” Arthur said, scowling, “have you finished belittling me and my partner?”

“No, I could rib you from here to eternity,” Morgana said, tapping her walking aid against the rail. “Besides, allow me to feel cranky, seeing as I've still got a lot of physio to go through.”

“Fair point,” said Arthur, his hands finding his hips. “Still, Merlin and I are fantastic, so there.”

“I'm glad you're letting him lead...”

“I do enjoy leading,” Merlin said.

“We haven't settled who's doing that in the competition yet,” Arthur was quick to clarify. “We're still developing our number.”

“Well, I advice you do it quick,” Morgana said, “because I saw your number one rivals, Morgause and Cenred at the Ballroom Dance Awards and they're a dream.”

Arthur said, “We beat them once.”

“Yes,” Morgana conceded, “after Morgause had just had her second baby and wasn't in top form.” 

“Still,” Arthur protested.

“Besides, you were dancing with me back then.”

“Hey, I dance very well,” Merlin put in. “I've even learnt all that ballroom crap!”

“I'm sure,” Morgana said, “still I advice you to watch the two in action at their next performance. Just so you know what you're up against.”

Merlin and Arthur shared a look. “How do we get to see them in action?” Merlin asked.

“I happen to have tickets for their performance,” Morgana said as smugly as she possibly could.

 

**** 

 

“You bought popcorns,” Arthur said, when Merlin came back from the bar. “We're here scoping out the opposition and you're buying popcorns!”

“Well, I thought we were kind of like undercover,” Merlin said, hugging the gigantic bucket to his chest. “So I decided to behave as I would at any other show.”

“This isn't a spy thriller, Merlin,” Arthur said, shaking his head while stealing a few popcorns from Merlin’s bucket. “And if it was that your attempt at merging with the crowd, let me tell you it was a piss poor one. That bucket is huge.”

Merlin grinned happily at him. “I asked for regular,” he said, looking down at his acquisition. “But if you've got any objection to the dimensions, well, the more for me.”

“That's totally unfair,” Arthur called after Merlin as he found their seats, losing popcorn kernels all over the place. “Oi, wait for me.”

Munching on, they settled in their seats. They had pretty good ones in a part of the auditorium that was close to the dance floor. The show was yet to begin but the lights were already positioned and the crowd was humming excitedly. 

Morgause and Cenred weren't the first to perform, so in the beginning Arthur enjoyed the show for what it was. He liked dancing, even when he wasn't a part of it. He liked the symmetry of a good choreography, the exploration of technique that went hand in hand with good footwork and the joy that shone on dancers' faces when they knew they had done the music justice.

He told Merlin as much. Well, not his feelings about dancing, that seemed rather too stupid, but he made comments about the couples he did see. 

Merlin took his cue for him and soon they were murmuring conspiratorially together, Merlin nodding his head, or smiling till his eyes became two slits, Arthur gesticulating. They both laughed when they agreed and they both challenged each other when they didn't, Merlin pressing his point, Arthur his.

“You don't understand a thing about dancing,” Merlin said at one point, chewing loudly and defiantly on his popcorn. “It's all about passion.”

“Nah, philistine,” Arthur said low, so as not to disturb the rest of the audience, “it's all about knowing your steps, being fit and ready.”

“That way you'd look like a robot dancing,” Merlin argued.

“No, that way you'd look like a competent dancer dancing,” Arthur said emphatically. 

“Strange,” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose and leaning in to whisper in his ear, “you look and feel quite passionate when you're with me on the dance floor.”

Arthur shifted in his seat, the air in his lungs not enough to breathe. A thousand thoughts darted in his brain, none of them quite clear, all of them confusing him into babbling incoherence.

He was saved from saying something very stupid by the announcer introducing Cenred and Morgause. As soon as their names were called, the two strutted on stage, Cenred wearing a black-on-black trousers and shirt combo, Morgause donning a glittering silver number. Their costumes weren't what Arthur immediately focused on but rather their assured, shark-like smiles.

“So those two are our big rivals according to Morgana,” Merlin said, back to talking shop.

“It's not only Morgana who thinks that,” Arthur said, leaning forward to see the show.

Cenred and Morgause saluted the audience and then, taking each other's hand, floated in each other's arms. They stood immobile for a few seconds, looking into each other eyes as if they wanted nothing else in the world but to gaze at one other, and then the music started, a dramatic lash of the violin that swept up Arthur's spine and set Cenred and Morgause into motion.

The rhythm of the tango flowed through them with ease and they were so attuned to each other, you couldn't detect a glitch. Both employed very slight movements to cue one another as to what was going to happen next. 

As a dancer, Arthur could recognise those cues in the gentle pressure of hands or arms, the tilt of a neck, but those motions were so subtle you would miss them if you weren't looking for them. Indeed, what you were looking at was the familiarity with which they danced, the perfect coordination of their steps as they dominated the dance floor.

Cenred and Morgause danced to the intoxicating flow of a staccato dance that was all musical glitter and effect, appearing to float on magical seas of space, the notes punctuating the story the tune was telling, serving it, enhancing it till all you could have possibly have had eyes for was their forms. Their musicality and footwork was impressive, and they looked both sensual and comfortable.

“Are they married?” Merlin asked him when the dance came close to its climax.

“No,” Arthur said, gritting his teeth. “They actually hate each other's guts, but they have been dancing together since they were quite young.”

“They could have fooled me,” Merlin said.

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur said, “they're that good at dancing together.”

“Can't say they aren't.”

“We're screwed,” Arthur said, considering that Morgause was back in top form after her pregnancy time-out and that he and Merlin certainly didn't have all those years of mutual experience to fall back on. “Completely and utterly.”

“Nah,” Merlin said, his lips breaking into a gorgeous, generous smile. “We'll be ten times better than them, more lover-like, fluid and show-offish.”

Arthur forgot his frustration at Morgause and Cenred when a strong desire to kiss Merlin's mouth made itself known to him. The sensation pierced him and stayed with him for long moments, until the rational part of Arthur's brain told him to stop that. He didn't know whether Merlin was in any way interested. Even if he was, that wasn't something Arthur should investigate now. They had a championship to win and the last thing they needed was that kind of distraction. 

Arthur leaned away from Merlin. “I'm not convinced,” he said, as Cenred and Morgause bowed for the applauding audience, a shower of red roses marking their triumph. “I don't know.”

 

***** 

 

The music started, the tango swirling on, straining on notes that detailed the passion of the player. Eyes level and back straight, Arthur moved towards Merlin. The music thrust on, its tempo climbing, teasing them into moving closer, though only their fingertips touched, their hips gliding together only when they readied a turn.

After an easy combination, a sharp, dramatic head turn followed. Arthur started his walk, stalking Merlin, his movements slow and sneaky, his body poised to deliver sharp motions, a quick foot flick or a sharp head snap leading him back to promenade position. They flowed around the dance floor counter clockwise, playing it out to the beat of the song. 

As the drama unfolded, Arthur used his foot to sweep Merlin's along the floor. That led to a move and counter move sequence that brought them to a corner of the room. They breathed in and out, chest to chest, Arthur feeling all the longing for Merlin that was imbued in the dance. This happened before Merlin initiated a turn, beginning with the torso, twisting right, his body following after a beat, hips and feet segueing into the motion. Arthur corkscrewed his body into compliance, until he and Merlin were once again gliding close, converging, finding each other and their connection through a passionate embrace. Even so, something was missing.

Arthur stopped, “No,” he said, folding his arms. “No, this isn't working.”

“Perhaps we were focusing on the new steps too much,” Merlin said as he got his breath back. “We can start from the chasing sequence again.”

“No,” Arthur said, “we need to do it differently.”

“Is that because you're scared of Morgause and Cenred?” Merlin asked with a head cock that was entirely provocative.

“No, it's not because of them,” Arthur said, gesticulating at the space between them. “It's something else.”

“Are you really sure?” Merlin asked. “Because ever since we saw those two perform you've changed.”

“I haven't changed,” Arthur said, feeling oddly defensive of his ability to stay calm in the face of a challenge. “I'm just being objective.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin said, with a lift of his shoulders. “Or perhaps you're just tenser, which means you're not feeling it, not being physical enough.”

“Or maybe I just want to succeed.” Arthur scratched at his forehead, an empty gesture really, meant to make something of his limbs, put them to good use. “I like our routine but after having seen Cenred and Morgause in action, I feel that we should change it again. Go to the library, come up with some more striking moves.”

“No!” Merlin said, his voice pitched higher than the music nobody had bothered to turn off. “I mean, not the library. We can watch more old footage, yeah?”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, over the noise of a spinning CD slowly coming to a halt, “just because you're lazy and don't like reading much doesn't mean we shouldn't do our homework!”

Merlin charged up to him, the grabbed him by the collar and said in his face, “I can't okay! I fucking can't.”

Arthur would have continued with his reasoning hadn't Merlin been so vehement out of left field. But his scrunched up face and panicked eyes told him that they weren't having an argument about the dance anymore. “You can't what, Merlin?” Arthur asked, no more trace of teasing in his tone.

“I can't read!” he said, letting go of Arthur. “I can't fucking read, I mean I get some words here and there, but I can't fucking read. I hope you're happy now that you know.” Merlin stalked off, pushing the doors of the practice room open and allowing them to swing back and forth in his wake.

Arthur was too stunned to react with all the rapidity he should have. For a few good seconds he stood there, literally gaping, the muscles in his jaw gone slack. By the time it took him to get halfway to the door, Merlin's footfall had already deadened. 

Worked in a frenzy of self-reproach, Arthur didn't notice that someone was coming in. He slammed right into his father. 

“Arthur!” Father said once Arthur had bounced off his chest. “Why were you running like a scared hare?”

“The better question would be: why are you here?” Arthur said, massaging his chest. 

“I talked to Morgana,” Father said with a sideways motion of his lips. “To be quite frank I had this discussion with her multiple times and I've come to the conclusion I can't not train you.”

“Now you change your mind.”

Father ploughed on. “After all tango was originally performed by two men and if that isn't traditional enough for the jury then I don't see how—”

Arthur laughed, tipping his head back.

“I didn't say anything funny,” Father said, tiptoeing on the verge of reproach.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said, scrubbing a palm down the side of his face. “This is fun. Your turnabout. And the timing of it.”

“The timing of it?” Father asked.

“I think I just... um,” Arthur said, feeling so much at sea, unable to cope with these new developments. “I fucked things up with Merlin.”

“I don't understand,” Father said as though Arthur had a fair number of screws loose in his brain. “You were ecstatic about him.”

“Still am,” Arthur muttered, with more sincerity than Father likely gave him credit for. “But there's a chance you don't have a couple left to train anymore.”

 

***** 

 

Morgana took off her ankle weight. “I knew you are sometimes a bit insensitive, but this has to beat them all.”

“How could I have known, Morgana!” Arthur said as he paced up and down Morgana's living room. “I mean, he never said, and evidently went to some pains to hide it.”

“I understand that,” Morgana said, putting her bare foot up on the coffee table, the surgical scar faded to a thin line Arthur could barely see in the sunshine. “But once he told you, you could have shown your understanding.”

“He tore off like the Road Runner,” Arthur said, throwing his hands up in the air. “By the time I'd considered what he'd just said, he was off.”

“And Uther was in?” Morgana asked, relaxing on the mound of pillows behind her. 

“Yeah,” Arthur said, vaulting around to continue his pacing. “He even sort of... indirectly apologised.”

“I told you I would make him change his mind.” Morgana waggled her eyebrows. “There's nothing like dangling thoughts of victory before him--”

“That's not particularly funny at the moment.”

“And he does love you,” Morgana said more seriously. “He might have this stick up his arse but at the end of the day, he'd do anything for you.”

“And for you,” Arthur said, stopping short. “He was very worried about your health.”

“I'm doing very well, thank you,” Morgana said flippantly. “I'm recovering ahead of schedule.” She brightened visibly, the stress lines on her face lessening. “Now let's think of a way for you to get Merlin back and ensure your win.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks. “It's not just because of the win that I want him back.”

“Aw, that is so sweet,” Morgana said.

Arthur held up his finger. “Not one word more on that, okay, Morgana?”

Morgana nodded.

“Just help me think of ways to find him.”

“You do have his phone number, don't you?”

“Yes, of course I do”

“Then call him.”

“He hangs up every time I try.” Arthur had tried at least three times before realising that the eventual hanging up hadn't been a fault of the line.

“Have you tried ringing him from another phone?” Morgana asked, as though she'd landed on this superbly brilliant idea.

“I have,” Arthur said in a tone by which he tried to convey how decidedly not stupid he was. “But when he realises it's me, which he does the moment I say hello, he, well, hangs up.”

“And at the risk of sounding like I'm encouraging stalking,” Morgana said in an infuriatingly amused tone, “which by the way I'm not, have you tried buzzing him?”

“It's not as if I know where he lives,” said Arthur, sinking into the couch next to Morgana. 

“Then I'm afraid you'll have to hope he'll be the one to check back with you.”

“I just don't want him to believe I think badly of him because of what he told me,” Arthur said. “Fuck the competition.”

“Have you tried texting him that?”

Arthur saw how reasonable that was. “I just might.”

When Arthur left Morgana's, he did as she had suggested and texted Merlin. Then to up his chances, he also went to Covent Garden, where he found Will. He was dancing with another partner, a brown-haired girl who wasn't as good as Merlin, but who, at least, could pull off the moves and look sexy while at it. Finding Will there wasn't the biggest stroke of luck Arthur could have had, but it was the closest thing he could get to it right now.

“No,” said Will the moment he had finished dancing. “Whatever you want, it's no.”

“Please,” Arthur said, knowing this was his very last chance. “I know that Merlin is upset.”

“He has every fucking right to be,” Will told him, as he hurriedly stashed fivers and coins into a side pocket of his rucksack. “I told him you were bad news,” he added, righting himself and getting in Arthur's face. “A posh person thinking he can do what we do just because he's learnt the steps at a bleeding dance school. Newsflash, mate, it doesn't work like that. And Merlin's done the right thing dropping your sorry judgemental arse.”

“But that's the thing, isn't it,” Arthur said, grabbing Will before he could tear away. “I never passed a judgement. I never said anything to Merlin. He just assumed I would think badly of him, which I don't, because frankly speaking he is quite fantastic.” Arthur hadn't come in to say that but now that he'd let his tongue run away with him he didn't regret his statement one bit. He ploughed on rather proudly. “Merlin is a brilliant dance partner, and a fun person to be around. So as I see it, the only one pre-judging me is you.”

Will acknowledged that with a grunt. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing much,” Arthur said. “Just tell Merlin that my opinion of him hasn't changed a bit, that I'm sorry for assuming, but that I didn't do it maliciously and tell him that I would love if he came back to the studio and wanted to give us another shot.”

“Why should he when it's brought him so much grief and embarrassment?” Will asked.

“Because it was a misunderstanding,” Arthur answered promptly. “And because he loves dancing.”

“I'll tell him,” Will said, sounding a little bit less as though he was about to punch Arthur right in the face. “But I can't guarantee his reaction, mind you.”

“I'm asking for nothing better than that,” Arthur said.

 

**** 

Arthur was flipping an omelette, when the doorbell rang. “Coming,” he shouted at the door as the omelette unstuck itself from the bottom of the pan and landed, more or less evenly, on the other side. 

Lowering the flame, Arthur went to open the door, a dish towel in his hand. 

Merlin stood on his threshold. “Is this a bad time?” he asked, eyeing Arthur's dirty hands and kitchen implement.

If his hands were clean Arthur would just have grabbed Merlin and dragged him inside before he could bolt. He was do fucking happy to see him, that he almost did, but then he settled for, “No, no way, I was just doing dinner and it's ready and it's...”

“Burning?” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose at the air.

Arthur rushed back to the range and turned off the gas. The omelette was burnt at the edges and stuck to the pan in the middle, but that didn't even matter to him much. What mattered was that Merlin was there.

Arthur didn't even take the time to bin the food, he just hastened back to Merlin in fear he would disappear while Arthur was busy elsewhere. 

Contrary to Arthur's fears, Merlin was sitting on his sofa, a cushion in his lap. Before Arthur could speak, he said, “I'm sorry.”

“I thought that was my line,” Arthur spluttered.

“No, no, listen,” Merlin said, waving one hand about while using the other to clutch at the cushion. “I've thought about it, I really have and I've come to the conclusion that I had a knee jerk reaction.” Merlin's eyes found the carpet and his words slowed. “The fact is I'm so ashamed...”

Arthur didn't want to sound patronising and there was a good chance he was going to anyway, but he said, “I see no reason why you should.”

“I can't read, Arthur,” Merlin said. “In this day and age. I mean... it's not the Middle Ages, right?”

“I think that has little to do with anything,” said Arthur as gently as he could. “Sometimes life happens.”

“And when I had to tell you...”

Arthur sat on the floor, cross legged, ready to listen.

“I just suspected you of the worst possible intentions because...” Merlin sucked in a big breath. “Because that's been my experience with people who've found out.”

“I'm sorry that's been the case,” Arthur said, wanting to go over to Merlin and clap him on the back, do something, his heart clenching painfully in his chest at his inability to console him. “But I want you to know that's not what I would have said. I mean, I wasn't about to blame you or ridicule you or...”

“No, I know,” Merlin said, as red as a ripe apple and going redder by the second. “I mean, I've thought about it, listened to what Will had to say...”

Arthur twisted his lips. “I don't think he likes me.”

“He said nice things,” Merlin said. “Mostly nice things.”

“I'm glad he changed your mind,” Arthur told Merlin. 

“He didn't,” Merlin said. “Your words did and I did some soul searching and realised I'd overreacted.”

“I can understand.”

“It's just that you were angry about our routine and the one thing I could have done to make things better I was just unable to do and I—”

Arthur lowered his head. “I was rude about the routine thing. I was just...” Arthur didn't see how he could get out of this without making a clear breast. “I was psyched out by Cenred and Morgause, as well as other things I felt were out of my control.”

Merlin hinted at a sideways smile. “I get that. Hell, I got that right then when you where speaking. But I just... I think I acted like a porcupine.”

“A porcupine?” Arthur just laughed. Merlin had the ability to make him; it was his face and tone, the way he'd grin after having said something so apparently inconsequential. Arthur loved him for it.

“Yeah, went into defensive mode,” Merlin explained with a tiny shrug Arthur found endearing. “Hackles up.”

“That's—”

“No, don't say you understand,” Merlin said, palming his face. “I know you do and I'm glad, but I was wrong and you shouldn't just brush that aside because of my history.”

“Merlin,” Arthur started. “I do have some empathy, even though I admit I'm not the most outgoing person in the world.”

Merlin nodded slowly. “Don't you want to know why?”

“Why you reacted the way you did?” Arthur winged an eyebrow. “I think you explained that pretty well.”

“No, why I can't...” Merlin gesticulated. “You know, read.”

Arthur fetched a sigh, a pang of affection hitting him low in the gut. “Only if you want me to. I... You don't need to explain why.”

“I want to,” Merlin said, playing with the zip lining the side of the cushion's case. “Just... let me.”

“Okay, then,” Arthur said, scooting closer, his hands on his ankles, head up as he readied himself to listen. “I'd love to hear your story.”

“Weren't you about to dine?” Merlin asked, cocking his head at the range.

“That can wait,” Arthur said, and then going with the rush of feeling he was experiencing, he added, “You come first.”

Merlin's nostrils flared. “Right then. I...” Merlin moistened his lips. “I don't come from a rich family. I mean, you must have guessed.”

“Sort of,” Arthur said, trying his best not to be a bastard about that.

“My mum was a single mum and she did her best by me,” Merlin said with a smile that was so warm it melted Arthur's heart. “So she sent me to school and all. I was just... a bit of a handful, couldn't sit still, couldn't just focus. I wanted to play pranks and run outside. My teachers hated me and I kind of...”

Arthur prompted Merlin.

“Stopped trying,” Merlin said in a cracked voice. “I mean I have the alphabet down and shit like that. I can read some choice words, and my name, but give me something longer than that... I just....”

“Merlin, that doesn't take away from the person you are.”

“Probably not,” Merlin said. “But my secret made me feel horrible all through my school years. When GCSE time came I just bullshitted my way through them. I did PE and music – I can play so that was kind of easy – and art, presented sketchbooks and stuff. I passed some, failed most and then I was out.”

“That sounds clever of you.”

“Or desperate,” Merlin says, averting his eyes. “Nobody ever found out, but I couldn't get any more schooling without my secret coming out. So I did odd jobs until Will and I...”

“Will and you?” Arthur asked.

“We had made some money and blew it on a trip to South America,” said Merlin. “We worked for passage too, did manual jobs on a cruise ship and all, then bought a used bike and biked across Argentina.”

Arthur laughed, high pitched and full of all the enthusiasm he felt he could now release. “So you learnt Argentine tango in actual Argentina.”

“Yes, where did you think I picked that up?”

“Dancing school, I assumed,” Arthur said, shaking his head. He brimmed over with admiration for Merlin.

“No, we just roamed the place and in the end, ended up in the right one,” Merlin said, his voice now free of all traces of shame, going higher with evident joy. “Somewhere they knew how to dance...”

Merlin launched into a description of his time in Argentina. He described his process of learning, the long nights, sometimes spent with no roof over his head. He said he was lucky to become acquainted with people who really knew about dancing. On the basis of that common passion, he made friends. 

Arthur listened eagerly, asking questions here and there, causing Merlin to expand on his answers, to relay anecdotes based on scent memory, vague recollections of conversations, noises, scrap of tunes that Merlin whistled.

“Oh that's just beautiful,” Arthur said, asking Merlin to whistle that again.

“It is,” Merlin said. “Isn't it.”

Trying to find a tune similar to the one Merlin had just hinted to, they put some music on, and Merlin danced an improvised dance for him. Arthur watched his grace and passion, mesmerised. 

When he stopped, Arthur jumped on his feet and said, “Dance that with me.”

“You think you can pick up the steps?”

“I already know them by heart,” Arthur said, proud of what a quick study he was. “Want to start?”

Merlin grinned at him, his breath ghosting over Arthur's neck, and waved the remote at Arthur's doc station. The music started again. 

Merlin led the dance. The rhythm pulsed through Arthur as they moved across the living room, executing volcadas and forced crosses. More than the sound of the tango, Arthur experienced a connection to Merlin.

His right thigh bumped Merlin's high up, Arthur feeling the muscles shift in it, shivers running down his spine.

The music changed and their weight distribution did too, Arthur taking three steps back steps for Merlin to front cross. From then on, Merlin improvised, but Arthur felt he could guess where Merlin was going, as if he had the measure of him, his intent, and could play into it by surrendering thought. 

They added an impromptu sacada, Merlin displacing his leg with his, the touch energising. Merlin invaded his pace so all that Arthur could breathe was him. As Merlin used the inside of his thigh to force Arthur to cross again all that Arthur could feel was the pulse of Merlin's body. 

Passionately, arrogantly, Merlin stepped between his feet and for a second longer than was probably necessary they stood there, breathing the same air in quick gulps, their lower bodies connected, until Merlin broke the spell, displacing Arthur's leg, pushing it outwards in a cross-displace-cross-displace pattern.

Arthur picked up from there, searching for Merlin with his body, turning the dance into a chase. Merlin was what he had in his nostrils. An instinct for him lodged deep in his bones. On the wings of the music, he went into an abrazo, the prelude to the wide ronde. The chase succeeded and when the music reached his climax, they stood again in an embrace, their chests rising and falling to the same tempo. 

Blood coursing fast in his veins, Arthur wanted to take his boon then, kiss Merlin. But he couldn't. There was the competition to think of and Merlin was just now coming to trust him. So he said breathlessly, “Are you coming to practice tomorrow?”

“You can bet I am.” 

 

***** 

 

Arthur took a step back and Merlin followed him forward on the right. They lunged and got into each other's space. They held their dance frame, rotating their torsos, bodies tilted in the position.

When they stepped out of the corte, Arthur found himself feeling the choreography, stretching, reaching, moving in tune with Merlin and the dramatic pace of the music. 

They followed a pattern of chase, drag, chase. Arthur's connection with Merlin came alive, his moves, the energy he brought into the dance, were being communicated to Arthur, influencing his own response, his energy levels and enthusiasm. 

“No, no, no,” Father shouted, stepping onto the floor with them.

“What,” Arthur asked. “What's wrong? We were doing rather well.”

Merlin smiled widely at him and made an assenting noise. “Yeah, it was coming pretty naturally.”

“I'm not objecting to that,” Father said, walking a circle around them. “The problem, as I see it, is that you're dancing your old dance routine with a few convenient modifications put in to suit Merlin's style.”

“I don't see how it is a problem,” says Arthur. “It was your routine. Your routines always work.”

“No,” Father said, crossing his arms. “That was the routine I thought up with you and Morgana in mind.”

“I don't see what's wrong with that,” Arthur said.

Father tutted. “Yourself and your sister, Arthur.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, the light of understanding crossing his eyes.

Arthur, however, was pretty much still at sea. “Yeah, and I thought you believed it a solid routine.”

“I did,” Father confirmed, confusing Arthur more. “But Merlin here isn't your sister.”

“So you mean that...”

“I mean that with him not being your sister—” Father's chin pointed Merlin's way. “—we can make it sexier, more provocative.”

“You were the one who didn't want to train us because you thought we would upset the jury,” said Arthur, not understanding Father's about face. The man made no sense sometimes. “And now you want us to make our number sexier?”

“Well, I told you that I'd changed my mind on that,” Father said, tapping his chin. “Besides, people, even judges, want to see something that lures them in, keeps them engaged, titillated.”

“Oh, my God.” Arthur turned on his heels. “I never thought I'd hear my father say that.”

“It's not that bad of an idea,” said Merlin.

Arthur thought it was a horrific idea. He already wanted Merlin far too much. “I think we should give them technique more than glamorised sex.”

“Tango is sexual,” Merlin said.

Father took him up on that. “There was that essay about it being a three-minute love affair,” he continued thoughtfully. “I'll try and remember the author. Anyway that aside, a longing for sex is what we should convey here.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, without a blush, without a thought as to the fact he was discussing sex with Arthur's father. “We should add some spice to the number.”

Arthur whirled around. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“I'm obviously not advocating big changes to the routine,” Father said. “You have it by heart and any interference with that would be an obstacle to a smooth performance. But adding something here and there could work.”

“I can do that,” Merlin said, tilting his head. “If Arthur's on board.”

“I can be, yes, of course,” Arthur said, trying to gauge how comfortable Merlin was with this. He seemed to be okay with Father's suggestion, his body slouched and relaxed. “I'm hardly a prude.”

“Yes, good,” Father said, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder. “What I want is for you to touch Arthur in a way that would leave no doubt as to your desire in the audience's minds.”

Merlin mumbled something under his breath.

“I want those touches to be borderline outré,” Father said, walking from Merlin to Arthur. “Provocative.”

“Like this?” Merlin splayed a hand on Arthur's chest. Arthur could feel the imprint of it through the material of his shirt. His heartbeat raced, he swallowed, and his hands got damp. 

Arthur wondered, as he reciprocated the embrace, whether Merlin could feel how tense Arthur was.

Arthur couldn't be sure. Merlin was in full seduction mode, his body language changing, becoming more assured, geared towards showing off. 

Arthur had little acting to do to make his audience – of one – believe there was nothing more that he wanted to do than to have Merlin... naked and possibly writhing in his arms.

Though he had to follow the routine, he did so in a kind of daze punctuated by sexual fantasies. Merlin's body became his to play with, re-arrange and manhandle. He invaded his space, breathed his breath, touched him in places that only lovers should get to. And though Arthur was aware that it was only for show, his body and his heart tricked him into believing every single moment of it.

“And now for the climax,” said Father, startling a blush out of Arthur. “I want you to nearly kiss, not truly, but to end up panting in each other's open mouths. I want the judges on the edge of their seats, asking themselves if you're actually going to give them the filthiest kiss they've ever seen.”

Arthur closed the dance with his knee between Merlin's legs, his palm splayed wide on his face, his mouth parted a hair's breath away from Merlin's.

Father clapped. “Perfect, sultry and passionate. I believe it.”

Arthur believed it too. 

 

***** 

 

The next two weeks were hard for Arthur, and that wasn't a joke, or perhaps it was, considering he ended up wanking more than he ever had since adolescence. It was really embarrassing and not something he could talk about to anyone without confessing he really did want to go there with his dance partner. He avoided telling Mithian because she would say something like, oh, how cute, and try and matchmake. He tried telling this to Leon, his outfitter, a less romantic guy, without actually hinting at Merlin or the masturbating, rather saying that dancing with someone that wasn't his sister was difficult. 

Leon just scratched at his beard and said, “I bet. Are those shoes too tight?”

Arthur said, “Yes, actually, yes.”

They fit perfectly, but he had to vent his annoyance.

Since the competition date was approaching, he practically saw Merlin more than any other person, and danced at close quarters with him ninety percent of that time, mimicking sex for an audience that mostly consisted of his father Morgana, Mithian, and, on one notable occasion, a choreography expert who'd come directly from Paris to give a final polish to their moves. It was a cross between embarrassing – because relatives – and titillating.

Of course when he danced, he managed to put that out of his mind. But there were moments when Merlin looked at him as though he wasn't just acting a part, but as if he was actually into Arthur. He moved as though he longed for Arthur for real, as though his hips might snap forward and seek Arthur's in a bona fide attempt at humping. He danced as though he was making love to Arthur. Despite knowing that tango was about conveying passion, Arthur almost bought it. He was nearly fooled. And that didn't help with either his longing or with how hard he found to suppress it.

These were stressing times for him, the more so since he started spending time with Merlin out of the practice room too. One day he just asked Merlin to the pub with him to drown Uther's complaints into a pint. Merlin accepted and after that it became a tradition.

Every Friday night they had a pint together. They didn't discuss dancing or competing. There was a veto to all mention of worries or Uther Pendragon. Morgana might be mentioned in passing. Sometimes she even nipped by, along with Mithian, smiled knowingly at them and then went back to confabulating with her friend. But overall they were left alone. And that meant that their discussions – if such they might be called – were all of a personal nature. 

On one such night, Merlin opened up even more than usual.

“You haven't asked me about that thing since I mentioned it to you,” Merlin said.

“You mean the reading thing,” Arthur said, drawing condensation circles on the table.

Merlin's breath got huffy in an attempt to stifle laughter. “Yeah, you can say it. That I can't read.”

“I was trying not to insult you.”

“We can have discussions about that,” Merlin said, drinking a swift pull of his beer. “You know that, right? I want to be able to talk to you.”

“Me too,” said Arthur, robbed of all breath. “Me too.”

Merlin smiled wide, leaned closer. “I want you to know I'm doing stuff, to change things.”

“Stuff?” Arthur said, grinning because Merlin's smile was just that contagious. 

“I'm going to take classes in basic skills,” Merlin said, red about the cheeks. “I asked around, called a helpline and it's looking good.”

“That's just great, Merlin,” said Arthur, giving a quick pat to Merlin's shoulder. “I don't know what to say.”

“There's nothing you need to say,” Merlin tells him. “But I want to thank you. If you hadn't found out, I'd have gone on as I was and that would have been wrong.”

“Silver lining,” Arthur said, tilting his head, his smile still firmly in place.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, nodding. “Besides, I didn't want to fear you'd despise me anymore.”

“I'd never have. I actually think a bit highly of you.”

“A bit highly?” Merlin said, snorting. “Only a bit?”

“Come off it, you idiot, you know what I mean,” Arthur said, drinking some of his pint. 

“Yeah,” Merlin said, shifting in his seat and angling himself towards Arthur. “Yeah, I think maybe, maybe I kinda do.”

That was so cryptic Arthur failed to understand what Merlin meant, but it didn't matter, Merlin's happiness gave him a buzz that lasted well into the night and was fuelled by the two extra pints. They might have stumbled out of the pub more than walked out of it, but they both wore smiles, and the tension Arthur had been feeling all week, both sexual and because of the competition, was mellow now. It didn't stretch his skin tight. He still wanted to kiss Merlin though.

“Really?” Merlin asked him. “You must be really very drunk.”

“What, why?” Arthur asked, blinking rapidly.

“You just said you wanted to kiss me,” Merlin said, propping him up as they took a turn towards the left, which led them closer to Arthur's place. 

Sweat cooled all over Arthur's body. “And you find that funny?”

“A bit,” Merlin said, actually giggling. “In a way, yeah, cosmically so, because you're you and I'm me.”

Arthur fell short of understanding that one too. He wasn't sure whether that was the effect of the alcohol or Merlin being confusing. All he was aware of, apart from feeling so hot he wanted to strip off a layer or two was the sense of biting humiliation he experienced at Merlin laughing at him. “Of course I don't want to kiss you kiss you--” He waved his hands about. This caused them to windmill and nearly topple over.

When they righted themselves, Merlin ducked his head. “No, I wasn't convinced you did want to, 'cause you'd have said otherwise.”

Arthur swallowed. “Yeah, it was more in a dare kind of way because... I felt daring and I wanted to see if I could dare you.” Fuck, what the hell was he saying?

Whatever he said had to have made sense to Merlin, because he stopped, wormed his way into Arthur's space and fitted their lips together. The world suddenly smelled like Merlin and had the shape of him. 

Merlin pulled Arthur’s upper lip into his mouth, traced his tongue along the seam and released it with a pop. He deepened the kiss, making it wet and slow, the tip of his tongue touching Arthur's. By the time Arthur had realised that he could as well return the kiss, Merlin had decided to back off. “There,” he said, “That was your dare.”

“My dare?”

“Your dare.”

Since that was the tenor of their conversation – not very illuminating – and he was drunk, Arthur decided to get them home. He could perhaps try and suss more meaning out of Merlin later. 

That, however, proved impossible because soused as he was, Merlin fell asleep on Arthur's sofa the moment his arse hit it.

There'd be no questioning him now.

Arthur was left to fend off with a severe case of blue balls.

 

***** 

 

The next two weeks were pretty intense. The competition stopped being a goalpost set for the future and became an impending event. Things just got very, very real. 

Practice became even more intensive. They doubled hours. Arthur went to the gym twice as much so that his physique could better respond.

Merlin was hardly sleeping just so he could both keep up with his job and turn up for their dancing sessions. Arthur didn't have the courage to question him about the night he had kissed him. It seemed like asking too much of him at a time when he was spread thin. 

He told himself he would postpone doing so till after the competition.

And then the time to shop for outfits came and Morgana, who was getting better and better – she only limped a little now – told them squarely that she would help them with the looks side of things.

“I don't trust you two to choose the costumes,” Morgana told them outside the costumes outfitter she'd followed them to.

“Why?” Merlin asked. “I've got pretty nice taste.”

“Please,” Morgana said, a whirl of hair as she turned to Arthur for support. “You wear jeans and scruffy trainers all the time.”

“Like half of the planet?” Merlin said.

“Don't look at me,” Arthur told her. “I quite like Merlin's style.”

Merlin pinked up. “Why, thank you.”

“He's only saying that because he fancies you something fierce,” Morgana said as she led the way into the shop. “So I wouldn't trust him.”

The door swung into Merlin's face because he'd stopped short instead of stepping through. Out of eyes that were a fraction too wide, Merlin studied Arthur.

Arthur didn't know how to respond. He probably reddened a little bit and felt like twitching and fidgeting. He was tempted to pass his hand through his hair, which he didn't do. But it was an extremely close call. 

Morgana was already into the shop while Merlin and Arthur stood at its entrance. Arthur cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should...”

Merlin coughed into his fist too; it must have been catching. “Yeah, go choose.”

Arthur had never wished so strongly they could just go for the old outfit he was meant to wear when Morgana was his partner. 

While Merlin frequently threw him speculative glances, Morgana pestered the tailor, dictating he show them different kinds of fabric and designs. Arthur wanted the black outfit. Merlin the silver one. 

“We've come here to get something to impress, right. Silver is impressive.”

“Too much so,” Arthur said, wrinkling his nose at the fabric.

“How about this?” Merlin asked, scuffing his toes against the counter, not acting as though he was focusing on the display as much as he was on staring at Arthur out of narrowed eyes.

The design Merlin pointed to was sober but sparkly in black and grey hues. Arthur liked it more than any of the other ones he'd been shown. Also, he didn't give a shit about the outfit anymore. He only wanted to get out of there, maybe explain things to Merlin, or maybe flee. He talked shop instead. “I can wear that one without wanting to hide.”

“Me too,” Merlin said, grinning up at him.

“Then you should get measured.”

The tailor whipped out tape measure and a number of pins. He worked with Merlin and Arthur until he was sure he had their measurements down pat. When the tailor was finished, he went into a back room to transcribe them.

Morgana was in the front of the shop so they were alone. 

Merlin said, “Is it true, what Morgana said?”

Arthur could equivocate, but in the face of a direct question such as that, he couldn't not answer. Doing that wouldn't have been at all honest. “Yeah, I do find you quite lovely.”

Merlin smiled, a wide smile that crumpled up all his face. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, shifting from foot to foot. “I do.”

“Well, then.” Merlin's eyes danced. “I suppose I'll have to admit I do too.”

“You do?” Arthur squawked.

They both burst out laughing at that. The moment they calmed down, they shared a look and started off again. It took them a long time to get their outbursts out of control.

The tailor started towards them from the mouth of the corridor.

Merlin said, “So I suppose you wouldn't mind if I asked you if you want to have sex with me?”

Arthur wanted to ask when and where, but unfortunately the tailor caught up with them, giving them zero privacy, telling them, “Well, I've got everything noted down now. The costumes will be ready next week.”

“Ah, thank you,” Arthur said, when all he wanted to shout was, “Just go away!”

His polite nature won out as did Merlin's apparently, because they dropped the conversation. Morgana rejoined them too, monopolising Arthur's attention. She wanted to show him the costume she wished to wear for her return on the dance floor. “That is lovely, Morgana,” Arthur said, hardly paying attention to his sister but watching Merlin as he browsed the shop.

“This would just suit us,” Morgana said, wrapping some of the silky material around her shoulders like a shawl. “Don't you think so?”

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur said, his eyes on Merlin's hands, his tapered fingers and the wide palms. They seemed like strong hands, capable both of grace and power. Arthur fancied those hands weren't gliding down bales of cotton or toying with the tassels of random scarves, but rather moving down his body in exploratory fashion. “Yeah.”

“My return must be dazzling,” Morgana said, picking up a new measure of sparkly silk. “So I want something very eye-catching.”

“Eye-catching, right,” Arthur said, observing Merlin. If you asked Arthur, there was something both endearing and hot about Merlin's physical presence. Arthur knew what Merlin's body was like in motion; how it felt under his hands, but he had no notion of how Merlin would behave when having sex. Real sex, not those pantomimes of passion they performed when they danced. “I'm sure Mr Greene can find you something suitable.”

Morgana followed his line of sight and snorted. “Really, Arthur, you could have told me I was boring you.”

“You aren't boring me,” Arthur said, tearing his gaze away from Merlin and directing it to Morgana. “Not in the least.”

“Look, I get it,” Morgana said, though there was half a snigger to her tone. “You want to get Merlin alone.”

Preferably, Arthur thought. Since Morgana was his sister, he said, “Don't be ridiculous. I do, at times, enjoy your company.”

“Just drop me home,” Morgana said, “and promise me we'll come back for an outfit for me.”

Arthur extended his hand to Morgana. “Done deal.”

They hailed a cab and took Morgana home. After a flurry of goodbye kisses on the cheek, Morgana hopped off.

“Let's go to mine,” they both said at the same time.

They stopped talking abruptly, Merlin snorting convulsively, Arthur shaking his head.

“So where to, gentlemen?” the cabbie asked, catching their eyes in the rear-view.

Arthur leant closer to Merlin, “I don't have a flatmate.”

“Well, Will's usually good with my guests, doesn't bother them at all, but perhaps in your case...”

“Better go to mine.”

Though Morgana didn't live that far away from Arthur, the drive seemed interminable, residential street following residential street, traffic lights slowing them down. At last they made the building. Arthur paid the fare before the cab could slow down.

Arthur dropped the keys to his building twice and the ones to his flat once. To steady him, Merlin wrapped his fingers around his hand. “I didn't make you out to be the nervous type.”

“I'm not,” Arthur insisted, even though it took Merlin ages to open that bloody door. “I've just been touching you for a month like it was sex, except it wasn't and I'm a bit wired.”

Once they were inside, Merlin backed him up and tilted his head, his nose brushing against Arthur's cheek. “I never thought you'd go for someone like me—”

Arthur's shoulders rose with an intake of breath, “Do you still think I'd think any less of you?”

“Some people would,” Merlin said, smiling softly. “But it turns out you're not like that at all.”

“Oi, does it mean you thought I was—”

Merlin pressed his lips to his, angling himself so that Arthur's upper lip was cushioned by both of Merlin's. He nipped at the fleshy parts of Arthur's mouth, then soothed the little bites with a slow swipe of his tongue. 

All Arthur could think at this point was: fucking finally. He'd come so close to kissing Merlin all those times he'd acted out a near smooch for their routine, and now he was getting a taste of the real thing. Arthur slowly released a pent up breath and opened up to Merlin's tongue.

Fingers curled around the collar of Arthur's shirt, Merlin kissed him deeply, messily and passionately. Arthur's muscles tightened. When Merlin took to trailing kisses around the base of his neck, even his knees locked.

Arthur's skin zinged with electricity and broke in goose flesh. He arched his head back, baring his throat to Merlin's touch. When teeth closed lightly over the joint between neck and shoulder, he sucked in a deep lungful that hollowed his stomach.

“Oh my God,” Arthur groaned.

Merlin slipped his hands into Arthur's hair, pulling them closer together.

Arthur felt the sharp lash of arousal, the weight of it pooling in his belly and sucking him downwards. 

Merlin seemed just as eager.

“These... clothes have got to go,” Arthur said, reaching for the hem of Merlin's shirt. With a few short tugs, he pulled it out of his jeans, letting the tails hang out while he moved his hands underneath the heavy fabric. 

Merlin's skin was hot to the touch, radiating heat. Kneading as he went, he palmed as much of Merlin's flesh as he could.

As he bit at his chin, Merlin's fingers dug deep into the muscles of Arthur's shoulders, hands spanning the small of his back and holding him tightly. 

His cock aching, Arthur unzipped his own trousers to lessen the pressure, then palmed Merlin's crotch, feeling him thickening against the heel of his hand. Despite the odd angle, Arthur rubbed at Merlin's prick, felt his pre-come wet his fingers. Merlin moaned against his mouth.

The noise was such a turn on for Arthur, he kissed Merlin once more, swallowing the tiny noises he was making. Clinging to him as he gasped, Merlin rode Arthur's palm, his fingers bruising Arthur at the hips. He let his eyes fall shut and pressed his forehead against Arthur's. "If we don't move this to the bed, I'll come without seeing you properly naked." 

“Right,” Arthur said, slowing his hips' movement. Taking his time with Merlin would be more enjoyable than getting off in a minute flat. “Yeah, bedroom's that way.”

“I know,” Merlin said, sucking a kiss on his jaw. “Watched you disappear into it the night I slept here. I did try to picture you in your bed then.”

“Did you imagine sleeping angelically in my bed?” Arthur said, giving Merlin's cock one hefty tug that set him slitting his eyes.

“Not quite,” Merlin said, his voice husky. “Let's say my fantasies were of a more adult nature.”

“Really, tell me about it,” Arthur said, as he started pushing Merlin towards his room.

They shed their clothes on the way, Merlin slipping out of his shoes and belt, Arthur trying to do the same but tripping because he was the one proceeding backwards. “I'm so glad you dance better than you walk,” Merlin said, stripping Arthur of his shirt.

“I fuck better than I dance,” Arthur said.

“Is that a challenge?” Merlin asked, sucking on Arthur's lips, then drawing back to rid himself of his top.

“More like a statement of fact,” Arthur said as cockily as he could manage, never mind the fact his legs weren't quite holding him upright or that he felt as wired as a power station.

Merlin laughed. “Aren't you curious about my prowess?”

They both slipped out of their bottoms and stood naked. 

Arthur said, “Did you learn how to be a master of sex as well as a tanguero when you were in Argentina?”

“No, I think I got the hang of that here,” Merlin said, and then winked, the cheeky bastard.

"Now you'll have to prove that,” Arthur said, bucking his hips against Merlin's, their cocks sliding together. Without any clothing on, it was thrilling. The frisson that overtook him nearly robbed Arthur of his breath. "What do you say to that?” 

“I say, I'll be glad to,” Merlin told him with a grin under which seemed to lurk as much performance anxiety as Arthur felt.

That didn't seem to stop Merlin though, because he pushed Arthur onto the bed and crawled on top of him, lowering his mouth to Arthur's. 

Arthur rose into the kiss, unable to catch his breath as it went on and on, searching and hungry. His hands clutched and stroked Merlin’s back, feeling his skin, how it got sweaty as they moved one on top of the other, bodies pushing and pulling. He traced the length of Merlin's spine and the breadth of his shoulders. His palm roved downwards along the notches of Merlin's spine, then skittered across to skim sides. All the while, Merlin plunged his tongue into his mouth. 

Arthur arched upwards against Merlin's weight and worked his cock against his hip.

Then Merlin was kissing his way down Arthur's chest, mouthing at his tightening belly. 

Arthur inhaled sharply, unable to stop the instinctive shivering flutter of his muscles or the imprecation that dropped from his mouth. “Fuck, Merlin,” he said, breathing against the surge of adrenaline that nearly set his body trembling. “I need you to suck me.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Merlin said, having found all of his own cockiness back after that moment of hesitation Arthur had read in his eyes earlier. With his fingers, Merlin held Arthur's cock upright. 

Arthur trembled in the pause that followed, caught in the whirl of expectation as he waited for what Merlin would do next. 

When Merlin's tongue snaked out for a lick, Arthur felt it in his bones, sensing the contrast between the trail of wetness Merlin had left in his wake, and the cooler air in the room, the touch of his soft lips as they grazed the tip of his cock.

Arthur had to fasten his gaze to the ceiling or risk coming then and there. He heaved a big breath too, thinking that oxygen would give him some of his control back, give him some stamina, but that didn't seem to work.

Not when Merlin went down on him again, slipping his mouth up and down Arthur's length. 

“Shit,” Arthur said when Merlin took him in his mouth right to the hilt. “God, please.”

Arthur couldn't quite recollect feeling like this before, his bones going to mush, the veins in his cock throbbing with a low thrumming that set him on edge, his heart beating so fast it was as though it might jump straight out of his chest. At the same time, affection swelled within him, raw and so indomitable it was somewhat scary. For a moment or two, Arthur tried to keep both his body and his emotions in check, tugging at Merlin's hair so he could control his movements and take it in a way that wouldn't have him at Merlin's mercy. But then he just let go and dove headlong into it.

When Merlin flicked the tip of his tongue around his slit and then gently lapped at the softer area underneath it, Arthur arched nearly off the bed. “Me—” he started, only to realise he had lost all ability to vocalise words past a groan.

Merlin gave him one long hard suck, and Arthur rushed into orgasm. 

With the last spurts came the shivers, and then Arthur relaxed, muscles uncurling from their near crunch, and flopped listlessly on the bed.

When he finally got his elbows under him and looked at Merlin, he noticed how red he was about the face. He also saw his hand snake to his cock, which was fat and dark with blood. “Don't,” he said, “don't come like that. You've yet to prove you're a fantastic lover.”

Merlin sniggered. “And here I thought I could get off.”

“No, you have to come inside me,” Arthur said imperiously though his ears burned because of the nature of his request. 

Merlin crawled forwards. “In which case we'll need supplies,” he said.

Arthur tilted his head, indicated the commode behind him. “First drawer,” he said, going for nonchalant but sounding wrecked, expectant. 

Merlin rooted inside the drawer, and then moved back between Arthur's legs. 

Arthur swallowed thickly. His skin tingled when Merlin cupped his arse or when pushed his fingers, cool with lube, inside him, preparing him ever so slowly. Arthur made noises throughout. Merlin was less vocal but from time to time he wetted his lips. 

It was a view Arthur could thoroughly appreciate.

Then Merlin bent down and ran his tongue around the swollen rise of Arthur's flesh, slipping it deeper and deeper with each new pass. And that was the very best.

At that point Arthur was so very ready, his body all abuzz again despite having just come. Merlin got on his knees and pressed in. 

Arthur felt every inch of him. Controlling his breathing to adjust to the new sensation, he sucked in a big breath, splaying his hands over Merlin's hips to give himself something to hold on to.

"Oh my God you're," Merlin said, strained and low, “I can't.”

Merlin didn't say what it was that he couldn't do. He just changed angles and pushed inside him. A burst of pleasure, bright though short lived, flared inside Arthur. He breathed out in counterpoint to the motion and Merlin eased in, fully seated now, wholly trembling, stilling. 

“You can move,” Arthur told him wanting to ease Merlin's shakes, to cradle him. 

"Yeah, that's—" Merlin sucked in his lower lip; his nostrils flared with an exhale. “You feel so..." 

Arthur half laughed at Merlin inability to complete a sentence. But he shut up the moment Merlin eased back and then glided forward again.

They interlaced their hands, Arthur resting his legs on Merlin's shoulders. Worrying his lip all the while, Merlin stroked himself inside him, sweat breaking on his skin as he moved. Though Arthur had just come, he couldn't help but feel a steadily increasing surge of pleasure, occasioned by Merlin's long, rhythmic thrusts, that had Arthur shaking too. 

Eyes on each other, Merlin's expression a little bit lost, Arthur's hopefully encouraging, Merlin broke into a different rhythm. "I'm not sure I can last, I—"

"It's all right," Arthur said, wanting for nothing better than for Merlin to have his turn, get his pleasure. What he wanted now more than anything was to see Merlin come apart. “Let go.”

Merlin's eyelashes fluttered; his breath hitched. Then he started rocking faster against Arthur, going quicker by increments. 

Little shocks chased up Arthur's spine but it was Merlin who was the spectacle. Arthur could see the struggle as he tried to maintain control of his body and its reactions. He could see it in the high colour that flushed his upper body and in the way his tempo got all shot, his breathing all ragged. He saw Merlin's face contort in pleasure and felt it the moment orgasm rolled through him because his body tightened and released on a small breath.

 

Both shaky, they didn't let go of each other. Arthur quietened and so, he thought, did Merlin. Still, Arthur pulled him close and wrapped himself around him, nosing at Merlin's neck, inhaling his scent. With a palm on Merlin's heart he was able to detect his hiccuping heartbeats. A spike of love washed through Arthur at that. He kissed Merlin's cheek.

Merlin, his eyes barely open, his head in buried in the folds of the duvet, he said, “What was that for?”

“Just because, Merlin, just because.”

 

***** 

 

Father put his hands on Arthur's shoulders, massaging out the kinks. “Alice Canterbury isn't on the jury,” he said thoughtfully. “I don't like that.”

Merlin warmed up, jumping up and down in place. “Why? Why's that bad?”

“Because she was a known quantity,” Father told Merlin. “Because we knew what she liked and how to do last second tweaks to our routines. I have no idea what Ms Guinevere Smith enjoys.”

“Oh,” Merlin said.

Though Arthur did experience a mild flare of panic, he said, “Don't worry, Merlin, I'm sure she's not bad.”

“She does look sweet?” Merlin said tentatively.

Morgana fixed the sash that belted Merlin's trousers. “I'd worry more about Taliesin, if I were you.” 

“What?” Merlin sent him a panicked look. “Why?”

“Morgana is pulling your leg, Merlin,” Arthur said, walking up to him and hip nudging Morgana out of the way. “Don't think about the judges. Just dance. You can dance.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully, drying sweaty hands down his shirt. “Yeah right.”

Arthur wanted to kiss him. He wanted to tell him that he'd never known a better or sexier tanguero. But Father and Morgana didn't know about them yet and Arthur thought the day of the competition wasn't the best one to break the news. “We're going to do fine.”

“You believe that?” Merlin asked, his eyebrow going up. 

Arthur couldn't be a hundred per cent sure the jury would like them. Most of its components were used to the idea of himself and Morgana, but he knew Merlin was gifted, and that he himself longed for nothing more than to dance with Merlin. That alone should give their performance an edge. “Yeah,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he was. “And then we've got people to make happy, don't we?” Arthur cocked his head at the stands where Will and Mithian were sitting.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, breathing out. “It's just... this isn't as casual as street tango.”

“You're too good for that,” Arthur said, clapping Merlin on the back. “If we win this, you may get more than just the money. You can carve out a career for yourself, if you're wise about your next moves.”

“But you're going to dance with Morgana again,” Merlin said, ducking his head. “Once she's well, I don't see what I else I could do but to go back to street dancing afterwards, which I enjoy by the way.”

“You may be invited to dance in famous venues,” Arthur said. “If today goes well, the sky's the limit.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. “Oh.”

“Yes, now though, we've got to focus on winning strategies,” Arthur said, angling Merlin's body towards their rivals. “And that means being aware of the competition.”

“I thought it all boiled down to Cenred and Morgause,” Merlin said.

“Yeah, well, it looks as though Kara and Mordred are also in splendid form today.”

“The dark haired emo boy and his partner?” Merlin asked, squinting at their twirling forms.

“Yup.”

Merlin smiled. “We can dance circles round them.”

“That's the mood,” Arthur said, knocking Merlin's shoulder with his. “Confidence is the key.”

Just before they were called to perform, they shared a complicit look, a grin that perhaps wasn't subtle but that Arthur felt was private enough only they could decode it completely. 

“Do your duty,” said Father.

Morgana kissed them both on the cheek and said, “Break a leg.”

The qualification round started. Music the judges had selected played in the background and all the couples, a total of twenty, had to dance to it. During the first few seconds, Arthur was distracted by the judges taking notes. But Merlin's hand in position, nudging him, he couldn't stay unfocused for long. The jury was forgotten and all that existed for him was Merlin and the tempo he could feel right into his veins.

Before he knew it, the first round was over. Sweaty, hair plastered to their foreheads, Merlin and Arthur waited. They watched as the judges confabulated and shared looks. Arthur was aware they'd done great. Merlin's answering grin told him that he too knew they had done more than okay. 

“So what happens now?” Merlin asked, in a low voice.

“Now we go sit there, relax a bit, and wait for them to call our number. “

As they made their way over to their bench, Cenred and Morgause cut their path, even though their own bench was on the opposite side of the dance floor. “Oi, rude,” Merlin called out. Arthur merely shook his head. He was used to these downsides of the duo's competitiveness.

Merlin and Arthur had downed a bottle of water each, when the numbers of the couples who'd made it were read. “Six,” Taliesin's voice sounded on the microphone. “Twenty-two, fifteen, nine.”

“That's us!” Merlin said, jumping up.

Arthur tugged him down by the sleeve. “We've got ten minutes till the next heat. We should take it easy or we'll tire.”

“Right, strategy,” Merlin muttered, and sat back down.

Arthur and Merlin danced through another four heats before the morning session was over. They had lunch in between, something light, and then they went back to the main hall to listen to the speaker announce the numbers of those admitted into the semi-finals. They were the first to be mentioned, Ms Smith’s tones ringing out with a vibrant number nine. They clapped each other on the back, Arthur wanting to pull Merlin into his arms, Merlin looking as though he wished the same could happen. 

Arthur was towing an overly excited Merlin back to their bench when Cenred barrelled right into him, elbow out, causing Merlin to topple backwards and smash into one of the columns ornamenting the dance floor. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” Cenred said. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Merlin said through gritted teeth, “I'm fine.”

“Well, I'm so glad,” Cenred said with a smile anyone with eyes could have told was fake. “I wouldn't want you to miss the semi-finals, would I?”

Before Arthur could punch Cenred in the face, Merlin said, “No, you're too much of a sportsman for that, aren't you?”

“I'd certainly feel very sorry if you had to sit the semi-finals out,” Cenred said, before rejoining Morgause. “Not that your participating is going to make a difference. I'll win anyway.”

“The little shit,” said Arthur, itching to land an uppercut on Cenred's jaw. “He did that on purpose.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, cradling his side, “but if I went and hit him back, they'd disqualify us. A punch looks twenty times more deliberate than a shove.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “You're right. He's just... He doesn't give a shit about fair play, does he?”

“No,” Merlin said, wincing. “He doesn't, that's for sure.”

“Are you sure you can dance through both semis and finals?” Arthur asked, concern for Merlin superseding the anger he felt at Cenred.

“Yeah,” Merlin told him, sitting down. “I'll probably be a bit tender but I can still dance.”

This time around they were supposed to dance to their own music so they could show off their own routine. They had the floor to themselves. 

They started off in an embrace. To the rhythm of "Cambalache", they swirled across the floor, smoothly sailing across the dance floor. They repeated a pattern of steps and forms they knew so well they could pay attention to the flair of the performance without dwelling on technique too much. 

Arthur enacted a consuming desire for Merlin, which in a way he truly felt. Perhaps right this minute he was more focused on giving the best performance of his life, but looking at Merlin as though he wanted to kiss him, fuse their bodies in an act of public sex, required no effort.

He kept his tempo, segueing into sequences of long steps, indulging in languid pauses that ratcheted up what the audience must have felt was the sexual tension between them. He broke into swift, flashy pivots. 

Merlin was with him through every moment. Arthur could tell how his body was balanced, was aware of his centre of gravity just by virtue of knowing him so well. The slightest twist of his torso would in turn alert Merlin to Arthur's intent. For each of Arthur's cues, he answered with strong, smooth steps. 

When Arthur switched gears to attune his dance to the tempo the violins gave it, he sensed Merlin was doing exactly the same, layering his performance, suiting it to the piano accompaniment. Everything flowed with and around the music. Arthur's body sang with the notion they were perfect together until Merlin twisted into an al costado.

He took his frame across to the side to shift his weight from one leg to the other, the foot on the side and following the motion through with the rest of his body. Doing so he grimaced, acting a few seconds too late and tripping a little bit.

They both salvaged the figure, righting themselves into the next sequence, but the stumble had been visible. Before Arthur's heartbeat could recover, they were pulling their last move, ending in an embrace. 

“Sorry,” Merlin murmured into his ear. “I'm so—”

Arthur massaged Merlin's spine in solid upward motions. “No worries,” he said, more concerned about what had prompted Merlin's mistake than the mistake itself. “We did good.”

They separated, lifting their hands to salute the crowd. Since they wouldn't get their results today, but tomorrow, before the finals, they went back to their bench, where Father and Morgana were. Father didn't rip into them for their mistake, but looked rather sombre, while Morgana smiled encouragingly and bridled her sarcasm.

They had a mostly silent dinner out. Father wore a stormy expression, Will made jokes Arthur didn't find funny, while Morgana drank a lot and made small talk, mostly with Mithian, until she caved and discussed the subject they were all trying to avoid. “You were both great, mesmerizing really,” she said. “I don't see how a little stumble would preclude you from the finals.”

Father looked like he wanted to add something to that, but Merlin pre-empted him. “I'm so sorry. It was all my fault. I know you relied on me to do Morgana's job and I just couldn't.”

“It was Cenred's fault, father,” Arthur hurried to say. “He shoved Merlin.”

“The stumble was unfortunate,” Father said grimly in answer. “But I do not consider Merlin a bad dancing partner for Arthur.”

Merlin gave a weak smile and hung his head. He didn't add much to the conversation all throughout dinner. 

Arthur exhaled and answered Mithian's question as to dessert.

Since Merlin's change in attitude worried him though, Arthur made a point of checking up on Merlin later that night. He knocked on his door holding up a Boots bag. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Pharmacy supplies,” Merlin snorted sheepishly. “How thrilling.”

“Hey, I could have condoms in there,” Arthur said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him,

“You don't have condoms in there,” Merlin said, sitting on the bed. “We said no sex before the final.”

“Unfortunately.” Arthur sat next to Merlin on the bed. “So yeah right you've got me. I have a tube of Algesal cream.”

“Arthur, I'm fine.” Merlin rattled out a sigh. “Really, it's nothing major. I would have soldiered through regardless.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur said, unpacking the tube of cream. “It hurt. You could do nothing about it. Now take off your shirt.”

“I'd like this better if it wasn't a prelude to the nurse Arthur show,” Merlin said, though he complied and removed his shirt. 

There was a large tender bruise on his ribcage. Arthur squeezed a dollop of cream onto his palm and started working it into the bruised tissue. “Shut up and sit tight.”

“Arthur?”

“Mmm,” Arthur muttered as he kneaded the cream into Merlin's skin. “Yeah?”

“I am really sorry.”

Arthur wiped his hand on some tissues. “Stop being stupid. You stumbled, so what? I could have done the same and it wasn't exactly your fault. Cenred deliberately charged you like a Rhino. He wanted to harm you, so you wouldn't be at your best. You don't have to apologise.”

“I still fill a bit disappointed though,” Merlin said, a lilt to his voice. “Cause if you had chosen another partner and not me, then...”

“Then Cenred would have pulled that on them instead of you,” Arthur said, kissing the top of Merlin's shoulder and wrapping an arm around him. “And that would have changed nothing, barring me not knowing you, which would have been a loss, you idiot, because you're kind of great.”

“You're good too,” Merlin said, huffing a laugh when Arthur put a fine line of soft kisses along the length of his shoulder and up to his neck. “Arthur—”

“Let's just sleep on it,” Arthur said, sucking on Merlin's earlobe. “You'll feel better in the morning and give the best performance ever.”

“You're not making it easy, sleeping on it.”

“Shut up, Merlin and don't tempt me.”

**** 

The next morning they filed before the judges to be told their scores. Only a limited number of couples would make it into the final. As scores and numbers were announced, Arthur and Merlin knocked shoulders. 

Numbers were called and still neither of them could hear theirs. They had already named four couples. Usually no more than six participated in the final. 

“Couple ten,” Guinevere Smith announced. She turned pages.

“We haven't made it,” Merlin said very much under his breath.

Arthur agreed that that was possible at this point, but didn't say that out loud. He was afraid he'd jinx it. He brushed knuckles with Merlin instead.

“Couple twenty.”

Mordred and Kara were in. 

This probably meant he and Merlin were out.

At this juncture, Ms Smith and Mr Taliesin leaned together and seemed to be conferring. Taliesin shook his head. Miss Smith covered her mike with her hand and started talking animatedly. Mr Taliesin once again moved his head from side to side. Ms Smith said one more curt word, shrugged her shoulders, then said into the mike, “Nine.”

Merlin jumped up and hugged Arthur, trying and almost succeeding in lifting him off his feet. “We're in the finals. I'm so happy you get to be in the finals.”

Arthur wanted to tell Merlin that he should be happy for himself too and not only for Arthur, but he got that Merlin had been feeling responsible for his mistake the day before, so he only embraced him with all the strength he had.

They were on pins and needles all morning. As the last to be declared finalists, they would be the last to perform. Meanwhile they sat and watched the others dance.

Morgause and Cenred opened with an astounding performance that leaned towards dramatic effect, their enactment of feeling through movement was touching. They were delicate and passionate without ever substituting emotion for technique. As much as he disliked Cenred for having practically torpedoed Merlin, Arthur had to admit that as a couple, he and Morgause were great.

Next to dance was a Scottish couple who danced an uplifting duet that failed, according to Arthur, to be quite as passionate as Morgause and Cenred's performance.

Another two couples danced before the lunch break. One had a moving number that was visually as stunning as Morgause and Cenred's though not as complicated. Yet it was lacking in technique. 

The second one couple was all about keeping up a flurry of movement and dramatic action. Their repertoire was also full of moves that were borderline prohibited.

“Didn't you tell me that I couldn't do that!” Merlin said, as he watched couple ten.

“Well, they're risking elimination,” Arthur commented sottovoce.

After lunch, Kara and Mordred performed. Theirs was a pretty number, their feet tapping an intricate but graceful pattern on the floor, but it wasn't a mature one. There was little spark, little daring. Arthur had enjoyed their performance from the previous day much more than this one. “Well,” Merlin told him. “This one isn't a winner.”

And then it was their turn. The crowd hushed and the lights were dimmed. When they started dancing, light from the projectors fell on them, sudden but not bright, more of a coy mist that enveloped them.

They held each other's eyes, enacting a sort of seduction ritual. Arthur turned it into a game, an insinuating challenge. Merlin dropped his gaze, caught Arthur's, dropped it again. A love story was about to be told.

Arthur and Merlin stepped into an embrace, Merlin taking his hand and pulling him into his space, his other arm sweeping under the one Arthur held raised. 

They continued with their game of tag, their pursuit of love through steps, giros, and frame breaks, with Merlin pushing at him to create the energy Arthur used to catch up on him. A series of forward walking steps followed. Thanks to back walks, they reversed direction, then broke in simpler eight step variations that flowed into a flashy stroll. To make sure their routine was dynamic, they put in a lot of rapid direction changes, a twist of motion occurring every time the music reached a pause.

They were telling a story that was about the ebb and flow of an earthy, profound love. During this final dance, Arthur moved with the confidence of a man who knows his steps like he knows his heart. His legs and body obeyed him without effort, tuned in to the music rather than to any conscious thought. He embraced Merlin, and all his senses barring touch and hearing, became less important. All that mattered was adhering to the pattern of the music, its texture, they way the notes meshed and wove together to prompt his reactions. 

He was in that zone where he could no longer tell movements and silent pauses apart. He was just responding to the music and the beat of it, the story it told. But above all he was reacting to Merlin, his body searching for his, hovering, seeking, until they stood chest to chest for the final move, hinting at that kiss that was supposed to never come, to be the final image the notes died on.

But Merlin's eyes sparked so bright, his breathing was coming so fast, that Arthur kissed him for real, pouring all the adrenaline from the performance into an open mouthed kiss.

The applause was like a crash of thunder, with whistling woven through. Flowers rained on them from the stands. Merlin smiled at him and Arthur returned that in spades, not caring one bit about the fact that something that had been private was now public knowledge. His chest thundering, he wanted to shout his desire for Merlin from the rooftops.

When the applause died down, Merlin and Arthur bowed, hands clasped, and then retreated to their position by the benches. Father didn't comment on what had just happened. He merely tapped his foot and stared at the judges as though his staring would get them to decide faster.

Morgana said, “Is there something you failed to tell me?”

“Shut up,” Arthur blurted out, his hands damp, his eyes roving over the jury table. “Just, please, for once, Morgana.”

Morgana tutted.

Merlin turned around and said, “I don't want to watch.”

As the jury decided, Arthur and Merlin had a drink, tapped their feet a lot, and managed to resist taunts from Morgause and Cenred, who came up to their position to tell them, “I hope you'll enjoy being third. Have you considered retiring yet?”

Arthur said, “Never before you, Cenred. Never before you.”

At last all the finalists were called to stand centre stage. Miss Smith, apparently the elected jury spokeswoman, took the microphone again. After clearing her throat, she picked up an envelope and said, “Here's the list of winners.”

The audience went quiet. 

Arthur's heart beat loud.

After having exhaled a big sigh, Ms Smith started reading out the results. “Third place goes to couple twenty, Kara Michaels and Mordred Shipman.”

A round of applause came from the spectators. Mordred and Kara walked to the jury table and were given a red ribbon.

“Second place goes to...”

When she said this, Ms Smith looked Arthur in the eye.

Arthur felt sure they'd be summoned next. 

“Couple number Fifteen, Cenred King and Morgause Lothian.”

Merlin took his hand. Arthur's heart did a somersault. There was a fifty-fifty chance they had won first place. Considering that one of the other couples had pulled illegal steps, the odds weren't bad. Only one other couple could possibly beat them to first place. It was between them and Arthur and Merlin. 

Cenred and Morgause received their ribbon. Morgause shook hands with the judges. Cenred refused to, saying out loud,“This is bloody preposterous. We should have won.”

Morgause had to pull him away and into the changing rooms.

“And at last our winning couple,” Ms Smith announced with a happy grin.

Arthur thought his heart stopped.

“Couple number nine,” Ms Smith said, clapping.

Arthur and Merlin turned towards each other, grinned and started jumping about. Arthur ruffled Merlin's hair, following which, perhaps because it was so silly, they both laughed enthusiastically. They ended up bouncing around so much they fell to the floor in a sprawl of tangled limbs. Petals from the stands rained on them. “We've won,” Arthur said, watching Merlin's dancing eyes. “We really made it!”

 

The End.


End file.
